


In the Garden of Edun

by Anonymouscosmos



Series: In the Garden of Edun (har har) [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Content - Freeform, arthur maxson struggling with feels, i even invent a vault, idk if i tagged them all but i tried, non Canon, not necessarily canon, paladin danse gets a lot of character development, the institute goes on a long drive, we keep x6-88 because he's a precious bby, x6-88 gets a life beyond the institute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymouscosmos/pseuds/Anonymouscosmos
Summary: After the Institute and Shaun, X6-88 and his travel companion struggle to make sense of the world they are left to contend with.Meanwhile, tensions brew between the Brotherhood and the Minutemen.--------------------This is a continuation and conclusion of my story It Will Bloom All the Same. It won't make any sense to you if you don't read that first, so... You've been warned. It is not intended to be an as-is reading.
Relationships: X6-88/Original Character(s)
Series: In the Garden of Edun (har har) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005066
Comments: 67
Kudos: 15





	1. Leaving

**Author's Note:**

> Atlas (formerly known as X6-88) and Arden are not as fun and fluffy as Edun, but I promise we will return to Edun and Dogmeat's shenanigans soon. Consider this a brief interlude for my sweetpeas.

**Arden**

Leaving Edun felt like dying. For months, she had been Arden’s family. Arden had grown to love her; a real sort of love. Genuine in its organic formation, unlike the impression of love that had been programmed into her by the Institute. Even now, with all this time between her and her origins, the thought of Shaun made her sick with anger. Edun was the only one who understood what Arden had gone through. It wasn’t something she spoke of with anyone, least of all Atlas. Their friendship was one of necessity. Two displaced Coursers, seeking each other out in a sea of natural born humans. Neither of them had anything in common with the overly friendly people who surrounded Edun. They could not begin to comprehend the things Arden and Atlas had seen or done. And so, they orbited each other, a reluctant support system. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Atlas. He was just… different. His personality was free of the emotional shackles and memories she had been given. He saw the world more clearly, without such constraints.

For all intents and purposes, she had _been_ Edun. They had given her the memories they gathered, instilled the habits and quirks they were able to observe of her blueprint. Then, in a cruel twist, they had given her an awareness of what she was. She was both a vessel for someone else’s life, and a prisoner in the knowledge of what she truly was. It was one of Shaun’s most unkind acts. He saw her as nothing more than data storage, demanding her to retrieve facts and tidbits at his pleasure. With her programming came a desperate need to appease him, to make him happy, and so she would sit across him at the dinner table and smile. Smile even though she hated the wine he chose. Smile even though she hated the records he insisted on playing, because it was _her_ favorite music. _Her_ favorite wine. She knew she was supposed to like these things. That her programming told her the music and the wine were enjoyable. But somehow knowing it was Edun’s and not her own desires turned her stomach and soured the notes.

He was ever impatient with her. He would ask her a question, and she would answer it. _No,_ he would snarl, _That’s not how she would answer it. She was funnier, warmer. You’re too cold. I knew they’d get it wrong._ Even when he availed himself of her body, he would be angry with her. She didn’t make the right sounds or say the right things. Often, he would turn her over so he didn’t have to look at her unblemished face. She did her best to please him, did her best to make him feel loved, but she felt like a tool set missing half its components. She could not fix what was broken without them. He regretted the choice to make her perfect, she knew. It was one more thing that made her unlike his precious Edun. Day by day, her heart raged in her chest. Not at him, never at him. They made sure of that. No, her heart blackened and shriveled with every thought of the woman who had broken Shaun’s heart. She vowed if she ever met Edun, she would kill her. She would kill her for leaving Arden with the burden of a man who would not love her. Not like she wished he would.

She thought if she killed Edun, he would finally see Arden. Edun had not been what she expected, however. Her words cut through Arden like a hot knife. _To bear a name is to be humanized. He could have called you Edun, after me, or let you pick a name for yourself… but instead you are a serial number. A stamp on the bottom of an appliance. That’s how important you are to him._ They had fought, nearly killing each other before Edun managed to get the upper hand and put Arden in a choke hold. Arden’s last thought as her world faded to black around her was one of Shaun. _Why couldn’t you just give me a name?_

She hadn’t expected to wake. When she regained consciousness on the cold floor of the hallway, her immediate thought had been of _his_ safety. Edun was loose somewhere, and Shaun was in danger. She crept up the stairs, expecting to see him at Edun’s mercy, but instead saw the woman propped up against a wall, bleeding out from a bullet wound to the chest. Shaun held her at gunpoint, but rather than shoot her again, he was still trying to make her understand. He still wanted her, even after she had brought his entire life’s work crashing down around him. Arden had frozen in place when Edun met her eyes. There was something there… something like pity. _How can you say that?_ Edun asked him, then, the words wheezing from her. She was dying, and she wanted Arden to hear his answer. _I met her. She is as alive, as human, as I am. She thinks she loves you. She thinks you love her._

His response sickened her, one sentence ringing out in her head above all the others. _I could no more love a machine than I could love a super mutant._ That was it, then. He didn’t love her, and he never would. She disgusted him. Pain flooded her body as she thought of the cold disdain in his voice each time he spoke to her. Each time he touched her. He couldn’t stand the sight of her, but couldn’t turn away...Because he was so desperately obsessed with Edun, he would do anything to imagine she was here with him. Even if it was for a moment, before his distaste clouded over his eyes. Fury bloomed within her, the heat of it spreading like fire through her veins. She would not be his consolation prize anymore. She would not walk in the shadow he cast over her one second longer. She was not Edun. She was not his to possess. If there was anything in the world that was hers now, it was the rage she felt when she looked at him. She watched him cock the hammer back, his finger curling around the trigger, and knew what she had to do.

He was surprised when she stopped him, the bullet burrowing in the ceiling rather than tearing its way through Edun. She left no room for words, smashing her fists into his cruel, hateful mouth over and over again. He would never scold her again, or tell her she wasn’t enough, that she was wrong and half-formed. _No,_ her mind screamed as she struck him over and over again, his face becoming a ruin of broken bone and exposed cartilage. _No, I’m not her, I’m me, I’m me, you can't take that away anymore._ People entered the room. Preston and Danse. Danse pulled her off of Shaun; the moment his hands gripped her the strength had left her body. Whatever they did to her now, she thought, it wouldn’t matter. She was free.

Rather than kill her, Edun had helped her. Had given her a name. She let Arden lash out and rage until the emptiness in her ached a little less, and then she took Arden into her home. She gave her new clothes, a new life. She listened when Arden wanted to talk, kept silent when Arden needed her space, and never asked anything of Arden that she wasn’t willing to give. Arden had never had such freedom. Slowly, she learned what things she liked and what things she hated. She developed her own tastes in food and music. She dressed differently from Edun. while Edun tended to dress more practically, Arden favored brighter colors and tighter fits. She allowed her hair to grow long, while Edun kept it just past her collarbones. In the beginning, they were nearly identical, save for Edun’s scars. As time wore on, they became more and more different. Each little step away from Edun’s identity and into her own gave Arden no small measure of peace.

Atlas had not done as well acclimating. He was unflappable to the point of being rigid. The niceties that had been programmed into Arden were not present in him. He missed social nuances, was painfully direct at times, and struggled to read body language. The hardness to his personality did not endear him to people, and more often than not they avoided him rather than greeted him or asked him how he was doing. He was tolerated, but only because Edun loved him. Much of the same could be said about Arden. She was more accepted, since she had an easier manner and a better sense of humor, but she would always be an outsider. She spent more time with Edun than anyone, but Edun was a busy woman with a life of her own now. Arden couldn’t bear to be around her when she was near Preston. Their love, their bond, was something Arden desperately craved. She had never had such a thing, not truly. The thoughts and feelings built into her for Shaun were exactly that… a construct. Simulacra of something rare and precious.

She had thought perhaps she and Danse might bond over their shared origin, but he refused to discuss it or acknowledge it. He buried himself in his position within the Minutemen. He was a man struggling with the pain of loss and still battling feelings of denial, and Arden left him to it. She could not help him crawl out of that pit. She was barely hanging on to the edge of it herself. With nowhere else to turn, Atlas and Arden turned to each other. Rather than relaxing around the Castle on their down time, the two of them would roam far and wide, hunting down feral ghouls stiff with cold or retrieving supplies for the Minutemen. Ranging across a frozen wasteland wasn’t necessarily an enjoyable hobby, but it brought a modicum of peace with it. Here, they were free of curious stares or whispered rumors. There was only the sound of their boots crunching through icy crust. At night, the moonlight sparkled on the snow as if they slept in the midst of a sea of stars.

Arden didn’t know what she wanted. Everyone seemed to have a definitive purpose or goal in mind. Edun wanted to restore peace to the Commonwealth. She wanted to help people and right the wrongs the people of her era had committed. Preston wanted the same. They were united in their goal, united in their love. They existed in perfect harmony. What Arden had with Edun was similar, in a way… but only because she was a deliberate ghosted image of Edun. When she was near Edun, she couldn’t trust the things she did were her own. She was afraid everything - her actions, her words, her laughter - were a path already trod, and not by her own feet. All she knew was as long as she was near Edun, she couldn’t trust herself. Her sense of identity floundered.

Atlas was the first to suggest they leave. They were huddled for warmth in an abandoned shack near Lexington. The little wood stove burned surprisingly hot, and water puddled around them as the frost melted from their clothing.

“We could leave,” he suggested at random, long-fingered hands extended towards the fire. “She loves us, and she means well...but she knows as well as you or I do that our future here is finite.”

“Where would we go?” Arden asked, studying his face.

“Does it matter?” Was his reply. “I say we roam until we find something that makes us _feel_. I know I’m not the only one who cannot seem to escape this persistent sense of… emptiness. I want to experience life like _they_ do. They never require direction. They just… exist, and thrive somehow. They love it all. Pain, heartbreak, joy, death. I can’t understand it. But I want to. And I don’t think we will find it here.”

They did not make any concrete plans, not then. It was the beginning of something, only a glimmer, but as the days wore on and winter slowly relinquished its hold on the world, the topic came up more and more often. They began to pore over US maps, examining routes and crossing off major cities. Anywhere human beings had formerly clustered in force would be destroyed, much like Boston and the Capital had been. Arden favored the thought of somewhere green. She liked trees. Atlas didn’t care. He wanted to wander until something changed. He was confident he would know it when he saw it. 

Then one day, it solidified in their minds. Arden woke to the sun shining brightly and the _drip, drip, dip_ of melting ice outside her window. It felt like a sign. The world was waking, and with it something awoke in her as well. Atlas sought her out in the mess hall, where she pushed her breakfast mash around on the plate with disinterest. He sat across from her, his dark eyes intense, and stilled her restless hand with his own.

“It’s time,” he told her.

“Yes,” she agreed.

They spent the rest of the morning leaning over the creased and tattered maps, drawing themselves a route with a red marker. Every line and x drawn hurt, for it meant they would be farther and farther away from Edun. She knew he struggled as she did, she could see it in his face. It hurt, but it was necessary. It was time to leave the Commonwealth and all its painful memories behind.

Edun didn’t seem surprised when they approached her. Her face bore the lines of resignation and grief, but she told them she loved them and gave them her blessing to go. There was more to it. Arden knew her better than anyone, and there was an expression in Edun’s eyes that she could not identify. She didn’t like not knowing what her twin was thinking. Whatever it was, Edun did not seem able to share it. As Arden walked away from the woman who had given her life, her heart was heavy. She wanted to promise she would come back. She wanted to tell Edun it was only for a little while. But that might be a lie, and Arden would not lie to the one person in this world she truly loved.

**Atlas**

Atlas felt something like guilt when he looked at Arden. They had been walking for hours now, the Castle long since dwindling away on the horizon behind them. Arden’s face was a mask of pain, but also resolute. They had talked of this day for long enough, and she was as committed to it as Atlas was. He understood how she felt, though. Edun had changed them both. Until he met her, he had been content with his role as a Courser. He killed any who stood in his way, retrieved runaways, and delivered them back to the Institute without moral compunction. He was quick, concise, effective. A perfectly oiled machine. His hard work and relentlessness drew the attention of the Director, and soon he became Father’s right hand man. It was as close as any synth came to being respected by such a man.

Arden refused to refer to him as Father. She, like Edun, insisted on his original moniker of Shaun. It felt wrong to refer to him as such, and so Atlas remained firm in his use of Father. After all, Father’s DNA was responsible for the creation of all Gen 3 synths. Without him, Atlas would not exist. Arden would not exist. Whatever Edun’s qualms about the Institute’s work, their cause had been noble. Their downfall had been the softness that came with being human. Father, though a great man, was a flawed one. He had brought about his own doom by being fundamentally weak, as they all were.

Their weakness intrigued Atlas. He found himself drawn to the idea of complex emotions. He had felt some himself, to be sure. It had started with Edun. He was surprised by it. There was something about her bravery and inadvertent vulnerability that endeared her to him. When he had offered to assist her with binding her hair back, his offer had been genuinely born of Shaun’s missive. _Whatever she needed, ensure she got it._ But the contact of it, the feeling of her hair against his fingers, had been somehow _intimate_. Not in an untoward sort of way, it was more… the first time he had ever touched anyone in such a way. It was different from seizing the lapel of a deactivated synth for retrieval, or striking an enemy with a gloved fist. It was a strange, tender moment that bothered him for days after. He found himself feeling almost protective of her. He knew that despite being one-armed, she was still quite capable of defending herself… but the sentiment remained, the absurdity of it sticking to the underside of his ribs like an unwanted burr.

He grew to like her. He enjoyed her persistent humor and jabs directed at him, though he gave no indication of it. He liked the way she asked him questions, weighing each answer he gave as though they held true value. She was courageous, to a fault bordering on stupid, but somehow he found himself admiring that as well. He liked saying her name, and for whatever reason hated hearing his designation from her lips. It sounded wrong. As though it weren’t him. He wanted to be something else, something more. She inspired such idiocy in him. After she left the Institute, and the weeks stretched on, her absence was like a sliver under his skin. Father’s order to watch her was one readily obeyed. He realized he wanted to track her progress just as much as Father did.

He knew he should report her association with the Railroad to Father, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew to do so might cost her friends their lives, and he balked at the thought of causing her pain. He was angry with himself for his reluctance, but try as he might he could not do his duty. He told himself it was only for now. That he would watch and observe and eventually report. He just needed to gather more information first, that was all. He watched her from the shadows. At times she would gaze in his direction, and he would tense, thinking she had somehow discovered him… but it was only another human quirk. Daydreaming, or remembering… he didn’t know. He vowed to stay a silent observer, but the day she stopped to stare up at Trinity Tower, he knew he would have to intervene. If he didn’t, she would surely get herself killed. There was that stupidity mixed with courage again, raring up to cost her more than an arm this time.

He couldn’t understand the effort she put into making the injured man she found comfortable. She wasted chems on him, comforted him, put her hand on him as he died. He had never seen such a thing. When one of his fellow Coursers was injured, they were either returned to the Institute to be salvaged or shot and returned. There were no comforting words or little mercies. You served the Institute until you were damaged or destroyed. Sometimes, a Courser would go wrong, and in those instances they were hunted down and deactivated just as any other synth was. Atlas remembered one such time. He had hunted the Courser for days, finally cornering her at the top of a high rise. She begged him for mercy, and as he began to speak her recall code, she threw herself from the window ledge. He would never forget the way she twisted in the air as she fell, or the way the pool of blood spread about her crushed body on the sidewalk below. At the time, he considered it a stupid waste. He couldn’t imagine dying rather than being retrieved. Meeting Edun had granted him a little understanding, at least. She had severed her own limb rather than be taken and changed into something else. She was willing to die to preserve her individuality.

Watching her minister to the suffering human made him wonder what he would do, should he end up in such a situation. If it were him lying on this table, pieces cut away from him like a chunk of butcher’s meat, would she grant him the same kindness and mercy? He knew she would, and that though stirred something in him. He found himself recognizing reciprocity in the emotion. If it were her, he would have done his best to ease her passing as well. Perhaps he would have stroked her hair one last time, told her he thought she was brave and kind and that perhaps those weren’t bad things to be. The thoughts churning in his head made him feel almost...sick. Almost like how hunger felt, when you had gone far past mealtime. That aching, almost nauseous feeling where you either needed to eat or throw up. He didn’t want to see Edun like that. Not ever. He knew then he would not let anything happen to her, if he could help it. He attempted to tell her as much, with clumsy words missing the warmth of humanity, but she appeared to understand.

He watched Father’s interest in her devolve into something dark, watched the man withdraw into his obsession. He couldn’t understand it. Father wanted her to be different, wanted her to change and become something else. If he truly felt something for her, why not be content with her as she was, unchanged? If Edun were different, she would not be Edun. Such things confused Atlas. These were the muddy waters of humanity. They never left anything alone. They were always changing and twisting things and then realizing it was a mistake long after the fact. The irradiated wasteland was proof enough of that. As Shaun’s mental state deteriorated, Atlas grew increasingly concerned for Edun. She had no way of knowing her every word and movement within the Institute was being recorded. That her DNA profile was saved, and the plans for a copy were moving forward. The more she resisted Father, the more insistent he became. Alan Binet fought him, for a time, but ultimately caved to his Director’s wishes. Father began to send Atlas to Robotics over and over again, demanding progress reports. When he was told they did not have enough data, he was furious. He ordered them to fill in the blanks the best they could. He wanted _results_.

Atlas tried to warn Edun, before it was too late and they had enough data. She lingered too long, and though she finally cut her ties with Father following the failure of Bunker Hill, it was too late. They had enough to put together a reasonable amalgamation of her personality. She was far too talkative for her own good.

Arden was in many ways very similar to Edun. Most noticeably in the little physical ways. She smiled the same way, tilted her head the same way. She flourished with her hands when speaking animatedly, the movements uncannily like Edun’s. She had a sense of humor, rather unlike Atlas, that was a decent enough copy of Edun’s… though at times it felt incomplete. The filled-in blanks were most evident there. She had many of Edun’s memories as well, fuzzy and vague as most implanted memories were. Sometimes, she would become sad and withdrawn. When Atlas asked her why, she would tell him she was thinking about Church. Father’s own father. Edun had known him, had cared about him deeply, and his death had haunted her for some time. Father had insisted that detail be instilled in Arden, along with the memories of his mother. It seemed an unnecessary thing to saddle her with, leaving her to grieve people she had never known. She was incomplete, a painting half-done, granted the revelation of what she truly was in addition to carrying the weight of Edun’s life.

She had shared the gist of things with Atlas, skating over details as she explained the fight with Edun and her killing Father. She was hesitant at first, afraid he would react unfavorably at her killing Father, but Atlas was not upset by it. Father of all synths or not, he was a man who had lost his way along with Atlas’ respect. Despite the amount of time they spent together, there was little sharing of their deepest feelings. Arden was cagey and withdrawn when it came to such matters, and Atlas had no desire to push. If she wanted to speak, he would listen. He did not feel the need to share much. He was still sorting out many of the things he felt, and preferred to unpack and examine them in the privacy of his own mind. Their friendship was a tenuous one, more about having company than having a confidante. There were times when they would go on a two or three day excursion and never speak a word other than communicating points of interest or coordinating an attack on whatever dangerous thing they were facing. It was comfortable, unique to them. He didn’t think any human could possibly understand the solace in simple company. Their bond was centered around a shared origin and mutual love for Edun. Were they anything else, they might not so much as trade glances on the street.

He knew the things she enjoyed, as well as the things she hated. He had pushed one of her buttons, once, unintentionally. They had stopped for a bite to eat, and he made a comment that jam-filled buns were Edun’s favorite treat as well. She stopped eating, her eyes slowly traveling up to meet his, and she spat out the bite of bread and jam before setting the rest of it down on her plate. When he looked at her questioningly, she only stood and walked out of the diner, her shoulders tight and her movements angry. As much as she loved Edun, she hated when their similarities were pointed out. She was desperate to be her own person, and Atlas had unwittingly trod where he had no business. He learned from that moment, never again comparing her to Edun.

He began to work on a mental list of things that only Arden liked. She loved mirelurk cakes with a near fanatical delight. She loved tight, shiny pants and boots with useless buckles. She adored Johnny Cash and absolutely hated classical music. He once saw her shoot a radio tuned to the classical station, scaring the life out of the trader standing beside it. She _loved_ horrible, tawdry romance novels. Any time they passed a bookstore or stand, she had to stop and browse. The covers were always absurd; half-naked men and women twined around each other in impossible poses. Disdainful as he was over the hobby, at times he found himself studying the covers and feeling… something. 

He understood the gist of human intimacy. He had seen and heard enough in his time as a Courser. The Institute might be an enormous structure, but it could be surprisingly small at times. He recognized that Arden was attractive, but his mind processed the information in a way that was almost clinical. She had pleasing, symmetrical features and her piercing hazel eyes missed nothing. More than anything, he found himself wanting to run his fingers through her long and shining hair. It cascaded over her shoulders and grazed the small of her back. She often braided it for practicality’s sake, but every night she loosened the braid and brushed it out with methodical, repetitive strokes until it gleamed like ripples of dark toffee. He tried not to stare, feigning interest in cleaning weapons or reloading magazines, but snuck glances as often as he dared. If Arden noticed, she didn’t say anything, and the ritual continued. He found himself missing it on the nights they stayed within the Castle walls.

He had never stepped outside of the Commonwealth. He had never been given the option, and his duties to the Institute had never required he stray from it. Two days after departure, as they stepped over the Connecticut state line, a mix of unease and hope made his chest tight. Whatever lay before them, at least it would be _theirs._


	2. Crazies In the Woods

**Arden**

Days blended into weeks. They fell into a regular schedule. Wake up, eat, hit the road, eat, go to sleep. There was a freedom to it that exhilarated her. Here, they were free of concern over the Brotherhood. There were no staring eyes or prying conversations. She stood in nobody’s shadow. Her steps felt lighter, and her head was clearer than it had ever been… Edun’s memories rattling around in it aside. Even Atlas seemed looser, his stiffness abating. They grew closer, the friendship deepening in light of their shared adventure. Sometimes they ran into trouble, but it was the sort they could handle. A pack of feral ghouls wandering into their camp. A band of raiders with cannibalistic tendencies. There didn’t seem to be super mutants, at least. Only feral ghouls and twisted wildlife.

Pennsylvania was much the same as Massachusetts and New York. The east coast had been heavily hit in the bombardment, and there was no exception to be found here. Tall, stark trees stretched up to the sky and the fractured roadways were littered with destroyed cars, desiccated human remains, and feral ghouls. Thus far, they had avoided the larger cities, particularly New York City and the surrounding area. With a population tipping over ten million at the time of the great war, the sheer number of feral ghouls would be astronomical. To go anywhere near would be suicidal, however proficient they were in combat. Upon arrival in Pennsylvania, they likewise avoided Philadelphia. Here and there, they would pass through small settlements. Groups of people clustered at their gates, curious about the two strangers passing through. There was surprisingly little suspicion. Arden supposed this far away from Boston, rumors of the Institute were little more than occasional whispers. She and Atlas did not look like raiders or scavvers, and their appearances granted them some immediate trust with most settlers. Sometimes they stopped, exchanging caps for supplies or information. Arden did most of the talking. She had been gifted with a more glib tongue than Atlas possessed, and putting people at ease came naturally to her.

The town of Williamsport had been rebuilt into something of a trade hub. High walls built from scrap protected the city from wasteland creatures and raiders. Guards patrolled atop scaffolding, and upon seeing Arden and Atlas, lowered their rifles and demanded to know their business in the area.

“We’re just passing through,” Arden said easily, keeping her hands where the guards could see them. “We would like to come in and trade a few things, if that’s alright.”

“How do we know you ain’t more of those crazies from the hills?” One of the guards demanded, rifle remaining trained on Arden’s forehead. “Never seen anyone dressed like you before. Could be a trap.”

“I don’t know anything about any crazies. But I do have a _crazy_ amount of caps, and if you let us in, I promise to spend a few of them.”

The man eyed her for a long moment before nodding his head in assent at last. “Open the gate, you lugs. We got a big spender in town.”

The gate slowly ground open, rusted hinges protesting, and the two of them walked into town. Williamsport had seen better days. The once charming brick buildings were largely decimated; now rebuilt versions of their former selves. The work had been done neatly, though the replacement bricks and mortar stood out, the color different from the original. Rooftops were either wood scrap or rusted tin. The town had been looked after and rebuilt with pride. Judging from the sheer amount of turrets and patrolling guards, life here had not been without perils. Trader booths lined the street, various vendors shouting advertisements for their wares. Weapons, armor, rations, and more. There was an old tavern, busy despite the early afternoon hour. Drunks staggered out, new patrons went in, and Arden nodded in its direction.

“We should stop in. There’s nowhere better to catch the local gossip than the local bar,” she told Atlas.

“I couldn’t care less about gossip,” he said with his usual cold inflection when humans were involved. 

“There could be jobs in it for us, you never know,” Arden shrugged. “Quit being sour grapes and come on.” She didn’t wait for him to continue his protest. She grabbed him by the hand and all but dragged him into the tavern. He towered over her and definitely outclassed her in the strength department, but he didn’t fight her. He let her pull him along, and Arden suspected he enjoyed her bossiness just a little bit.

The tavern was abuzz with activity. In the corner, a woman in a pink dress sat at a grand piano. Her fingers danced over the keys as she sang a rather beautiful rendition of ‘Goodnight, Irene.’ Her voice had a warbling, songbird quality to it. Around her, tables were full with a mix of traders and locals. When Arden and Atlas strode into the tavern, much of the chatter paused or faltered as the clientele turned to observe the new arrivals. For a moment, Arden froze, afraid they suspected she and Atlas were synths. He felt the tension in her and gave her hand a squeeze. It was a reminder. _Nobody here knows what we are. We left that behind._ She forced her body to move, weaving through the tables to an empty one before sitting down. Atlas lowered himself into the chair across from her, and she hid a smile at the chair’s creaking protest. He was a large man, and it was a very old chair.

Interest in the newcomers faded, and the tavern returned to business as usual. There were a few lingering glances, but it was a different sort of interest. Arden had the clear, untarnished beauty of her pre-war predecessor. She didn’t look like most wastelanders. While those who survived the bombs were the product of over 200 years of tough living, Arden was a copy of a woman untouched by the nuclear wastes. Similarly, Atlas was crafted to be a soldier of the Institute. To anyone who didn’t know better, he was simply a genetic marvel. He had been made to be perfect. He looked much different than he had all those months ago when Arden and Edun rescued him from Covenant, but was no less intimidating. He sported a beard, now, though he kept it short and clean. He favored flannel shirts and jeans beneath combat gear, often giving the impression of a particularly large and deadly lumberjack.

People didn’t mess with Atlas, and it was something of a boon for Arden, for it meant nobody messed with her either. Tangle with Arden, you get Atlas. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but assholes tended to look at her and assume she was an easier target. It was often the last mistake they made.

“You’re being watched,” she smirked, watching the crowded room in her peripherals. “Guess none of them have ever seen a skyscraper before.”

“They’re not looking at me,” he dismissed her. “You’re the only thing in here worth looking at, and they know it.”

The unexpected compliment brought heat to her cheeks, and she waved down the waiter rather than meet Atlas’ eyes. She ordered two whiskeys, neat, and put a few caps in the waiter’s hand. He hurried away, and Arden turned her attention back to the woman in the pink dress. She had moved on to a rendition of ‘Wayfaring Stranger.’ If her voice had shone before, it was absolutely brilliant now. The waiter returned shortly with their drinks, and Arden took a sip. As whiskey went, it wasn’t terrible. They sat and nursed their drinks, observing the comings and goings of the tavern. Eventually, the woman on the piano took a break. The absence of the music left the tavern feeling empty somehow. As if the light had gone out, though sunshine streamed through the windows.

Arden noticed with some surprise that the singer was approaching them, working her way through the sea of tables and people. She would stop occasionally to greet someone or exchange a few words, laughing and chatting. She was clearly a local, and judging from the reception of the crowd, much adored. At last, she made it to the table where Arden and Atlas sat. She pulled up a chair without invitation, seating herself close to Arden.

“ _Well_ , it’s not often we get visitors. Traders, sure, but not the likes of you two. I’m Molly, nice to meet you.” She extended a hand to Arden, who took it gingerly. Arden couldn’t help but notice the woman’s nails were pink, as well. The same hue as her dress. She had soft features, pretty but simple. She looked young, perhaps twenty. Wide blue eyes framed with long lashes regarded Arden with great interest, and her blond hair was pinned and coiffed neatly atop her head. She turned her attention to Atlas, offering him a bright smile and handshake as well. Arden had a sudden, irrational dislike for the way Molly was eyeing Atlas. Plenty of people had stared at Atlas. Sometimes with fear, sometimes with curiosity, sometimes with desire… but Molly was the first time it had left Arden feeling threatened. She didn’t like the pink dress, or the pink nails. She didn’t like the carefully maintained hair gleaming atop Molly’s head. Most of all, she didn’t like feeling this way at all. What had gotten into her?

Atlas introduced himself, seeming oblivious to Molly’s interest or Arden’s irritation. To him, a wastelander was a wastelander, and he didn’t particularly care for them. That, at least, gave Arden some relief. 

“What has brought you to our homely little town?” Molly asked, returning her attention to Arden. She must have realized Arden would be the talkative one of the two from Atlas’ closed off face. “Surely you’re not here for the whiskey.”

“We’re just two travelers making our way across what’s left of America. Guess we wanted to see what’s left.”

Molly eyed Arden’s guns and body armor pointedly. “Just travelers? Or travelling professionals?”

Arden let her lips twitch with a smile. “Oh, we do odd jobs here and there if needed. If the caps are right. Why, you looking to hire?”

Molly’s face tightened, and she leaned closer to Arden, as though afraid she would be overheard. “Actually, there _is_ something. For years, we have been at war with a band of crazies. They attack from the hills. They have no interest in supplies. Sometimes, when they can, they will drag people off. I don’t know if they eat them or...worse. I’m sure you noticed all the security around here.” Arden nodded that she had. “That’s all due to them. It’s been going on since before I was born. We’ve tried sending patrols out to eliminate them, but… they never come back. So we hide out here, and do what we can to prepare for each new attack.”

“Have you ever caught one of these crazies?” Arden asked, curious now.

“Yes. A few times. It was never any use. They just… scream and rant nonsense. None of us have ever been able to make any sense of it. If we don’t restrain them, they just beat their heads against the walls until they die or lose consciousness. When I say crazies, I mean it. In every sense of the word.”

Atlas leaned in, then, his eyes hard. “If I’m understanding you correctly, you want us to do the impossible. Entire patrols have disappeared in pursuit of these… _crazies_ … and you think Arden and I can walk in and do what countless others have been unable to?” 

Molly shrugged, a dimple appearing in her cheek along with a small smile. “You two look like you can handle yourselves. I’m not saying you have to wipe them all out. I’m hoping you can simply figure out what they are, what they want, and where they are coming from. Give us something we can work with, and I’ll pay you so generously you’ll need to have new pockets sewn into your packs.”

Arden leaned back in her chair, one eyebrow raised. “How do we know you’re good for it? You’re just a piano player.”

Molly’s smile widened. “Because I’m the mayor’s daughter, and he’ll do whatever I ask.”

Arden and Atlas exchanged a glance. “We need to discuss it between ourselves first, before we give you an answer,” Arden told her. Molly nodded, winked, and rose from her chair. She returned to her piano and began a lively rendition of ‘Oh My Darling Clementine.’

“Well,” Arden said, tossing back the last of her whiskey. “Are we interested in this?”

Neither of them actually cared about caps. It wasn’t that money had no value. It was important for supplies and gathering intel. The entire reason they had left the Commonwealth in the first place was to grow. To see the world and perhaps find themselves along the way. That said, neither of them had any intention of dying in the doing of it. Atlas frowned, turning his glass within the circle of his fingers.

“She knows more than she’s telling us,” he said at last. “I have a feeling she knows where these invaders are coming from.”

“You do?” Arden was skeptical. “She’s just some woman who plays the piano.”

“She’s also the mayor’s daughter,” he argued. “She approached us because we’re new, and thus can be manipulated.”

“So, we don’t take the job. That’s okay.”

“No, we definitely take the job,” he growled, surprising her. “And when it turns out human beings are once again predictably corrupt, it will just solidify the things we already know about them.”

“You want to risk life and limb to prove that humans can’t be trusted?” Arden asked, both brows raised now. “And they say _I’m_ a pessimist.”

“You have as much reason as I do to distrust them.” 

“They’re not all so bad. Preston and Edun--”

“Aren’t here,” he finished for her. “And they are exceptions to an otherwise absolute rule. How many humans stood by while you crawled about on your knees, picking up the fragmented pieces of memory given to you, desperate to please Father? How many helped in creating you, for that matter? How many of them saw your misery and did nothing, because you were only a tool, a machine to be used, to them? I’ll tell you. All of them. Every single resident of the Institute knew what Father was doing was wrong, and stood by and let it happen anyway. Remember that, the next time you find yourself softening towards a human. They’re all alike.”

She felt anger rise in her, felt her pulse in her hot cheeks at his harsh words, but the anger was not directed towards Atlas. It was directed towards the people who had been complicit in her creation and enslavement. He was right, of course. Her feelings for Edun and her experiences at the woman’s side often blurred the lines of memory. How could she so easily allow herself to forget?

When they approached Molly at the end of her song, she looked relieved and delighted that they were agreeing to the job. 

“From the main gate, you’re going to want to head Northwest. Follow the old highway until you reach the fallen tree blocking it. That’s where you’ll begin your search. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to be careful,” she added. “Especially at night.”

  
  
  


**Atlas**

Atlas found himself awash with regret as they made their way along the crumbling old highway. High trees loomed around them, blackened bark and shriveled leaves only adding to the sense of gloom. He had been unkind to her, he knew. His words had stung her, and the moment they left his lips he wanted to take them back. The pain in her eyes as memory flooded back to her was as sharp as any knife to his heart might be. He had grown used to her laughter, her jokes, her amusement ever-present even in the face of danger. To see it gutter out as though it were a candle’s flame… it left him feeling hollow inside. He was angry with himself, even if he had meant the words. In this, she was certainly different from Edun. If he had said such things to Edun, she would have laughed and punched him in the arm and told him to quit being so bleak. But Arden carried a wealth of painful memories on her shoulders, and he had just made her revisit them all.

She was silent, walking ahead of him with her shoulders in a tense line. If he mentioned the scenery, she grunted acknowledgement. If he suggested various tactical approaches, she agreed without proposing alternatives. She was letting him drive, withdrawn and licking her wounds, and it was his fault. After an hour of walking, Atlas spied the fallen tree just as Molly had described. It was an enormous oak, decaying but still a formidable barrier. It had been cut down and allowed to fall, almost as though to keep foot traffic at bay. Instinctively, both of them crouched and shifted off the road. Molly hadn’t given them much to go on beyond this point, and there was no telling what awaited them in the trees. They stepped carefully through the forest, engaging their stealth devices and carefully placing their feet lest they step on particularly loud twigs. It was eerily silent here. No birds chirped, no signs of life moved, and the sunlight filtering through the trees was murky.

Perhaps a mile in, the two of them drew to a halt at the sound of voices. They waited at the edge of a small clearing, standing perfectly still, protected from discovery by their stealth fields. Three people came into view from across the clearing. They were dressed in an assortment of rags and bones. They yelled and cackled and shook their heads, the way a dog might when attempting to dislodge something from its ear. Not one truly legible word fell from their mouths, filled with blackened teeth. Their movements were jerky and disjointed, as though a puppetmaster were pulling strings and lacked finesse. A shrill scream punctuated the silence, and that was when Atlas saw the struggling figure being dragged behind the trio. A woman in a net struggled, arms extended through the rope and hands grabbing at anything she could reach, desperate to find something to hold on to. Anything to delay her journey coming to an undoubtedly unfortunate end.

“We’re going to follow them,” Atlas whispered, sensing Arden close to him. “Wherever they are going will be the source of the trouble.”

They fell in behind the group, careful to remain under stealth and silent. They allowed significant distance between themselves and the deranged humans. If more showed up, they risked detection and blowing the whole operation. Atlas could see the area had once been beautiful. Barren hills, filthy creeks, and ruined trees were all that was left of a once lovely and heavily forested area. He had seen imagery of the world before the bombs, and in his mind’s eye he could fill in the missing scenery. Humans had destroyed everything, almost like a reverse Midas touch. They couldn’t seem to help themselves. Even now, he suspected whatever had happened to the targets they followed was somehow due to human error.

At the base of a particularly steep hill, an all-too familiar structure loomed up from the earth. It was an enormous steel door, a faded Vault-Tec logo emblazoned across it. Before the door stood a large steel cage. It was to this cage the prisoner was dragged, shoved unceremoniously into the confines of it before a lock was snapped into place. The woman sobbed, begging her captors to let her go, but they were deaf to her pleas. They moved away as though afraid of the door, shaking their heads in the same bizarre manner as before, jabbering until they disappeared from sight amongst the dead forest.

“Some kind of sacrifice to the vault gods, I take it?” Arden said in a low voice from behind him. “I should have dressed up. Didn’t know this would be a special occasion.”

“We need to get closer,” he answered in an equally low voice. “If that door opens, it’s our only chance to get in. Neither of us has a pip boy.”

They made their way down the hill, grateful for the night’s rainfall. Wet leaves and mud made for much quieter footfalls. They hunkered down to the side of the great door, tucking behind a cluster of brambles. The woman within the cage wailed, drowning out any possibility of hearing their movements. She struggled against the net, finally freeing herself of it, and clambering to her feet. She had the look of a farmer. She wore tattered jeans and a shirt two sizes too big for her. Her brown hair was a fright, tangled and matted from her ordeal of being dragged across the forest floor. Her hands were shaking and her face was streaked with tears. She was young. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She clutched the bars and began to scream for help, over and over, her voice raw and frightened.

“We have to do something,” Arden whispered close to his ear.

“Not until we find out why she’s here,” he insisted. “Be patient. Wait.”

Perhaps twenty minutes passed, and then a new sound joined the girl’s cries. The groaning of an enormous metal door being opened. They were about to find out just what the hell was going on out here. Once the door had finished opening, a figure stepped out into the light. It was a ghoul, wearing a faded blue vault suit with the number _119_ emblazoned across the back. He was pulling a cart behind him, long and flat. The thick tires rolled easily over the damp earth and leaves. The woman in the cage saw him and shrank back, her screaming coming to a cessation at the sight of him. She was trying to decide if he was friend or foe. The ghoul stepped up to the cage and offered the woman a smile, extending a hand to her. She stepped forward cautiously, her eyes wide and frightened. Wastelanders often viewed vault residents with a mix of awe and interest, and the ghoul’s blue suit had a disarming effect on her. Atlas saw the gleam of the stun baton before she did, saw the flash of motion as the ghoul raised his arm swiftly and jammed it into her neck. He could hear the crackle of electricity, and then the young woman crumpled into an unconscious heap. The ghoul returned the baton to a clip on his belt, then produced a key. He unlocked the cage and stepped inside, grabbing the prisoner by her ankles and dragging her out. Once she was clear of the cage, he lifted her and dumped her onto the cart.

The ghoul paused for a moment, looking around as though sensing their presence, but gave himself a little shrug and began pushing the cart with the woman on it back inside the vault. Carefully and quietly, Atlas and Arden stepped out from behind the brambles and followed - stepping through the entrance and ducking into the shadows inside before the great door began to close again.


	3. Sacrificed for Cans of Beans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Needles mentioned

Atlas was grateful for the noise of the cart as the ghoul pushed it deeper into the vault. It made it easier to tail him undetected. The vault was not like most; there did not seem to be a residential wing. There was no cafeteria, no entertainment lounge, no atrium. The place had a cold, clinical feeling to it. The corrugated metal walkway led them down a long row of cells on either side. Had it been a prison of sorts? Judging from the number of cells here, at least fifty inmates could be held if not more. Vault-Tec had certainly done stranger things. He had been inside Vault 111. He had seen Vault 95 and Vault 75. Vault-Tec had little to no regard for the lives of their subjects, viewing them as guinea pigs and nothing more. Edun had herself been a subject of such experiments, frozen for over 200 years. The infamous corporation’s attitude was not unlike the Institute’s was towards their synths.

They followed the ghoul to the end of the cellblock and through a doorway into what appeared to be both a laboratory and a surgery room. Cabinets lined the walls, the components and lab equipment neatly organized along the length of them. At the center of the room was a green vinyl surgical table. There was a hole in the center of it, where one’s lower back might rest. There were thick leather restraints on it for a head, arms, feet, hips and torsos. Whoever was made to lie on that table likely had no choice in the matter. It reminded him of the place they wiped and reprogrammed synths. They were strapped down before a row of needles were inserted into their spinal columns. Pulses of Electricity did the rest. Since they were synths, it was not deemed necessary to provide any sort of sedative or painkiller for the excruciating process. He had watched the process many times, though rather than sympathy he felt only relief. Relief that he was not deemed broken and in need of being _fixed._ No, things here were shaping up to be exactly as he had expected… humans committing atrocities against other humans. This was exactly why Edun’s best efforts would always be pointless. No matter how much damage she repaired, there would be more.

The ghoul lifted his prisoner from the cart, depositing her on the surgical table and methodically securing her with the restraints. She let out a soft groan while he tightened the strap over her forehead, her eyes slowly blinking open as she regained consciousness. When she realized her new predicament, she began to scream again. The ghoul sighed as though inconvenienced, walking over to a cabinet and retrieving a syringe before returning to her side. Seeing the item he held, the woman thrashed and struggled against the restraints to little avail. Secured as she was, she barely moved on the table. He plunged the needle into her arm, injecting the liquid. The effect was almost immediate. After perhaps thirty seconds, her body went limp and her eyes took on a glazed expression. After another minute, she only stared at the ceiling with childlike fascination, giggling and murmuring to herself. Atlas frowned. The woman was as high as the Prydwen now. Whatever the ghoul had given her, it was strong stuff. She lost all awareness of the room around her in the haze of it.

The ghoul retrieved a holotape recorder from another cabinet, pressed a button, and began to speak in the gravelly, raspy voice unique to his kind.

“Subject six hundred forty six. Adult female, roughly eighteen to twenty years of age. This is good, preferable. The last few subjects were too old. Younger subjects prove to be most receptive to the therapy. The less synapses formed, the better, though children are much harder to acquire. According to what I have reviewed regarding similarly aged prior subjects, the issue is possibly due to protein imbalances. It’s thin at best, but there were significant correlating factors in the comparisons of the test panels. Rather than dive right in, I will be pulling samples of blood and cerebral fluid. If I’m right, comparing her panel to the previous failures may bring something I missed to light.”

He clicked off the recorder, returned it to its drawer, and removed a long syringe from a cabinet. He paced back over to the table, where the girl continued to stare at the ceiling, oblivious to all else. He pressed a button, and the table began to rise to a vertical position on a motorized stand. Once it came to a stop, the ghoul placed the needle at the base of the young woman’s spine and slowly inserted it. If she felt it, she gave no indication. The needle detached, and the ghoul held a vial beneath the protruding needle, catching the clear fluid that leaked out from its end. Once he had gathered a sufficient amount, he capped the vial and removed the needle, pressing the button for the bed to return to its prone position. Next, he took three vials of blood from her. He placed the items in a small case, tucked it under his arm, and strode out of the room. No doubt he was off to run the planned tests.

“We have to get her out of here,” Arden hissed after several minutes had passed. “I don’t know what he’s planning to do to her, but I’m willing to bet it results in her turning into one of those psychos that dragged her here.”

“First we need to ensure he is the only one,” Atlas whispered back. “If we show our hand now, we may only delay the inevitable.”

She was softer than him. She, like Edun, cared about helping people - even if it was based off of the ghost of Edun’s own moral compass. A fact he did not want to point out at this juncture, considering how his words had affected her earlier. Atlas looked at the woman on the table and felt only a sense of finality. Either she died here, or she died out on the Wasteland. The chances of her living out a full life and dying of old age were rather slim. Shame accompanied the thought process. He had not wanted Edun to die prematurely, so he had stepped in and helped her. She had not wanted _him_ to die prematurely, and had rescued him from torture and death. He had to face the truth. He _did_ understand Arden’s desire to help. While he had no emotional connection to the woman lying on the surgical table, someone did. Someone out there was missing her, worrying for her, just as he had for Edun. Just as he would if it were Arden on that table now.

“When he returns, disable him but do not kill him,” Atlas told Arden. “We need whatever information he has about this place.”

She did not reply, but he was sure her mouth was spread wide in a grim smile. He would let her handle the ghoul. It was a gift, an apology for the words that had caused her pain. When the ghoul returned, humming something to himself and carrying a tray of implements, Arden was ready. She struck him from behind as soon as he cleared the doorway. The ghoul let out a surprised cry, and the tray went flying. Microscope slides, scalpels, and other items scattered across the lab floor. The ghoul grabbed a scalpel, slashing at the air in a panic, struggling to see his assailant. Arden’s stealth field shimmered as she moved, grabbing the ghoul’s hand and twisting it, ramming the scalpel into his opposite shoulder. He let out an angry howl, which was cut short by Arden’s fist connecting with his jaw. He fell back to the floor, hands raised defensively, and gave up fighting. _Weak_ , just as all scientists were. It was easier to make others do your bidding and dirty work. Arden appeared into view, switching off her stealth field. She was furious, her eyes dangerously flat and cold. It wasn’t often Atlas saw that face. It was usually reserved for nights she woke from sleep tormented by dreams and memories that were a mix of hers and Edun’s. The face she reserved for thoughts of _Father_.

The ghoul stared at her, his mouth opening and closing silently, and Atlas switched off his device as well. The ghoul scurried back a few inches, shock and terror in his rheumy eyes as he took in Atlas’ bulk towering over him.

“How… Wh-where did you come from?” He stammered, eyes darting back and forth between them. 

“We were right behind you, every step of the way.” Arden’s voice was like ice. “Someone sent us to investigate the _crazies in the woods_ … and here you are, smack dab in the middle of it all. One might think you were involved somehow. You have two minutes to convince me you’re just an innocent ghoul out for a stroll, and not a mad scientist about to do terrible things to that poor girl. Otherwise, we find out how great your bone density really is.”

“Someone sent you?” The ghoul asked, then chuckled. It was a hollow, mirthless sound. “Let me guess. Either the good mayor or his daughter.”

“One minute and forty five seconds,” Arden replied.

The ghoul’s eyes bugged. “Wait! Please! I’ll tell you everything. Just promise you won’t hurt me if I do.”

“We’ll hurt you if you _don’t,_ how’s that for a bargaining chip?” She took a step towards him, her face a thundercloud.

“This was a research facility!” The ghoul cried, desperate, hands raised. “Before the bombs fell. We experimented with memory. Specifically, the erasing of it.”

“Keep talking,” Arden’s eyes remained flat.

“The government contracted Vault-Tec to investigate the possibility of erasing traumatic memory. They saw soldiers suffering from PTSD and the like as damaged assets, and wanted a way to… reset them and get them back onto the battlefield. At first, results were promising. By selectively destroying certain neurons, we were able to eliminate many of the memories causing the mental and emotional deterioration.”

“Let me guess. That wasn’t enough,” Arden growled.

“The results were too varied. We could not isolate and eliminate _all_ the memories causing the distress. Factor in the age-old argument of nature versus nurture, and we found many of our subjects were more susceptible to negative reactions to the experiment if they had a chaotic upbringing. It was a bit like a domino effect. Events from the past cascading into more recent ones. Vault-Tec was unable to further the experiment within the ethical constraints of federal law, so… They created this vault, to continue their work long after the fall of the United States. Rather than focus on and eliminate traumatic memories, the goal became entirely wiping all memories. If we couldn’t selectively erase them, it was better to entirely erase them. Ideally, it would be much like a newborn baby’s first moments. No thoughts, no memories, only a blank slate. Reactive to stimuli but otherwise quiescent.”

“A blank slate receptive to whatever nasty shit Vault-Tec wanted to fill it with,” Arden surmised. “This sounds a lot like the crap they tried to do with Robobrains.” 

“In a way, yes. But the technology we use here is different. While technically a more crude method, neuron elimination proved to be more lasting and permanent. While the robobrains required regular memory wipes lest their sense of self return, our subjects did not have that problem.” The ghoul explained. “But time and again, the experiments failed. For reasons I am still struggling to ascertain, the memory wipes are technically a success... save for one thing. I cannot seem to eliminate the basest animal instincts. The tendency for violence, the desperate need to survive. No two brains are alike, each having their own distinctive neural pathways and chemical balances. Over the last year, I have become confident the issue lies within the proteins themselves. If I can just find someone whose brain has not been altered by irradiated DNA…”

“Your only purpose was to find a successful way to wipe them?” Atlas interjected, his voice even. “How long have you been conducting these experiments? Who are you?”

“I am Doctor Wilson Patterson, once-renowned neurosurgeon. Though I suppose I am just about the only one left who knows my name. I have been down here since before the bombs fell. I started out with nearly one hundred subjects, though failures took what time did not.”

Anger throbbed beneath Atlas’ breastbone. How many synths had he condemned to a similar fate? He had run them down, captured them, and given them over to the SRB for their minds to be wiped and reprogrammed. He was in no position to judge this man. He had committed crimes no less heinous. It did not matter that his hand was not the one that pressed the button. Without him, there would not have been half so many blank-eyes synths stupidly mopping the halls of the Institute or placidly singing Father’s praises while trimming shrubs. Revulsion twisted tight in his stomach. How could Arden bear to look at him, knowing what he had been? How many times had he walked into Father’s quarters for orders and seen her sitting in a corner, dejected, having been shamed for being who she was yet again? How many times had he turned his back on her, leaving her to the grasping hands of her warden? Every smile she threw at him, every joke she told, every word of comfort she had ever spoken to him was forgiveness… and it was forgiveness he did not deserve. Arden’s voice broke through his mental torment.

“What does any of this have to do with the mayor or his daughter?” She demanded.

Patterson laughed harshly. “I have not been by myself down here all this time. We once had a full staff. An overseer, lab assistants, a panel of doctors as qualified as myself. Twenty years after the bombs fell, the Overseer decided he was bored with his lot. He insisted on opening the door, despite our warning that the radiation outside was still at unsafe levels. He’d convinced himself it was all a hoax, the fool. Myself and a few others tried to stop him. We were irradiated at the door. I lived. The others did not. The breech nearly compromised our entire mission here. Our second overseer was a colleague of mine. He continued to oversee the experiment until his untimely death at the hands of cancer. His son, Adam, took his place. Adam was not so motivated as the rest of us, and he _also_ insisted on returning to the surface. By this time, radiation levels were in a much safer range, and we let him go. His efforts were only meddlesome, obstructing our progress. He balked at every necessary step. We were beyond need of an overseer.”

“Where were you getting your test subjects?” Arden asked suddenly, realization dawning on her face. “Your initial pool would have long since depleted.”

“My colleagues gave their lives in the name of furthering science,” Patterson answered, no regret in his voice.

“You murdered them so you could continue to run experiments that had long since lost their relevance?” Arden’s tone was incredulous. “The world was destroyed, and Vault-Tec with it. Why continue? How could you murder your own people?”

“For all I knew, Vault-Tec was continuing to flourish. Why not continue? I could not waste all those years of research. If Vault-Tec came knocking, I would be ready to present them with solid results. When I finally realized that day may never come, it became about _finishing_ my work. I had dedicated two centuries to perfecting neuron destruction methods. I could not let all that effort go to waste.”

Arden was losing control. Atlas could tell by the way she was clenching and unclenching her fists, and how the vein in her neck stood out. It was time to step in.

“But your staff wasn’t enough, were they?” He prompted. “Even that resource was finite.” 

Patterson nodded. “I was down to my last two, when someone came knocking at my door. It was Adam. He proposed a deal. He needed supplies. He wanted to strike it rich out on the Wasteland, and buy his way into small town politics. I had a vault stocked with enough food and medical supplies to take care of a small group for… oh, just about indefinitely. In exchange for new test subjects, he would be given supplies. The arrangement was mutually beneficial. He went on to become mayor, and once he died, his own son took over. _That_ son’s son, the mayor of Williamsport, is the lovely madam Molly’s father, but I am sure by now you have surmised as much.”

Atlas frowned. “If this long-standing deal has worked out so well, then… Why did she send us out here? Is she opposing her father?” 

Patterson smiled knowingly. “No. You see, over the last thirty years, I realized I could exact some control over my discarded subjects. Being little better than animals, they were very motivated by things such as trinkets and food. Their minds are much like primitive man’s, and they see me as something of a god. Once I realized I essentially had an army of soldiers willing to do whatever I asked, the retrieval of test subjects was a mere snap of my fingers away. Sometimes the mayor even sends them to me, all but gift wrapped.” He chuckled at that, and Arden delivered a swift boot to his ribs. Patterson gasped, the air wheezing out of his lungs at the contact.

“So the mayor feels cheated, having lost his birthright of supplies… and if they have you eliminated, the vault is open to them to take from as needed,” Atlas mused, piecing it together.

“Exactly,” Patterson agreed, scooting away from Arden’s boots. “They are using you to their own ends. They are not good people, surely you see that. They willingly sacrificed their own people and innocent travelers in exchange for cans of _beans._ You are not the first hired guns to appear, seeking me out. The mayor and his daughter have sent many. Though you _are_ the first to manage to sneak in.” 

“It would appear only monsters reside in these parts,” Atlas observed drily. “The real question is… What do we do with you?”

“That’s not a question,” Arden interrupted. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to cut little pieces of him away until he’s whittled down to bone.”

“The second you leave here, my subjects will tear you apart. It doesn’t matter what you do to me. They will finish it.”

“I have a better idea in mind,” Atlas said coolly. “But for now, I suggest we lock him up and finish exploring this vault.”

Atlas lifted the ghoul by the scruff of his vault suit, half-carrying, half-dragging him back to the cell block. They threw him into the nearest cell, ignoring his cry of pain at the scalpel still embedded in his shoulder, and locked the door behind him.

“No matter what you do, you’re doomed!” His voice called down the corridor as they left him alone.

**Arden**

  
  


She felt cold all over as they returned to the lab and she looked once more upon the woman strapped to the surgical table. Was this what she had looked like, lying on a table as they filled her head with thoughts and memories and emotions not her own? Had she been as afraid as this girl was before the drugs? Had she cried and struggled in a cold lab devoid of any human kindness? Alan Binet had been courteous to her. He was one of her first true memories. He was no different than Shaun, though, playing house with Eve. She was programmed to care about him, programmed to be his wife. Eve had been an experiment, a thing to be used and observed much like Arden had been. She hated Alan Binet, as much as she had hated Shaun. He was responsible for bringing her into the world. He had laid her at Shaun’s feet, gift wrapped and ready to be his emotional whipping post. Alan was safe, now, protected under the watchful eye of the Brotherhood. If there were ever a chance to kill him, she would take it. Consequences be damned.

“You should leave her for now,” Atlas cautioned her. “She is in no condition to be left alone to wander the halls, at any rate.” He was right, of course. Arden reached out, put her hand over one of the young woman’s, and gave it a squeeze. She showed no reaction, her blown-out pupils staring sightlessly forward as she continued to singsong whisper to herself. Arden let go, turning to follow Atlas as they continued to explore the vault. They found the staff quarters, all but one of the rooms covered in a thick layer of dust. The people who had lived here and participated in the nightmare were long gone, their belongings left wherever they had been placed before they met their ends. Patterson’s room was in disarray. The sheets were tossed and crumpled, the smooth metal walls of the room covered in notes and theories written in markers. They looked like the scribblings of a madman. He had not done well here; all those years spent alone with murder being his only interaction with humans.

They explored engineering, where two enormous generators hummed along, their power cores glowing softly in the dim light. They found the enormous storage room full of supplies. Patterson had not exaggerated. The ceiling was high, and racks spanned floor to ceiling. The shelves were packed with pre-war goods. Canned meats, vegetables, fruits. Packets of seeds, enormous bags of potting soil, drums of purified water. There were dried goods as well - freeze-dried ice cream, jerky, dried fruit, seeds and nuts, bags of flour and sugar and powdered eggs. One could live like a king in this vault, especially with only one belly to fill. It was no wonder the mayor wanted access to such a resource. He would be a hero of the people for the rest of his life, and set up his daughter for much the same. In the wasteland, resources were the most valuable commodity you could offer.

They found a monitoring room. There were screens correlating to many of the cells, as well as one overlooking the lab they had been in and the area in front of the vault door. If anyone came near, whoever was in this room could see. That must have been how Patterson knew when an offering was brought to him. The large cage stood empty, the door left ajar. The afternoon was growing late, and the sky had a hazy orange fog to it.

She turned to Atlas, her blood still like ice in her veins. “You said you had another idea in mind for him. What was it?” He told her, and her lips slowly spread into a vengeful smile.

Patterson struggled against them as they stripped him of his vault suit and pip boy, but his spindly limbs were no match for the combined strength of two Coursers. When they were finished, they cuffed his hands behind him and marched him towards the door. Arden used the pip boy to override the door controls, and the enormous steel door slowly creaked open. They had to lift Patterson, for he refused to move his legs. Arden was not gentle with his injured shoulder, deliberately jerking and jostling it for maximum pain. He let out little mewling pleas and moans, his courage entirely gone, but they fell on deaf ears. Atlas undid a cuff and clasped it around one of the cage’s thick metal bars, leaving Patterson tethered to it. 

“Enjoy your stay at the Graybar hotel,” Arden snarled into his ear. They left him there, huddled and naked on a bed of wet leaves and muck.

Arden knew Atlas had little interest in watching, but he stood by her side as she pulled up the screen with the view of the cage and settled into the worn office chair. It only took half an hour for Patterson’s broken subjects to begin to materialize from within the trees. There was no sound on the cameras, but Arden could see his mouth opening and closing as he screamed orders and beat at the bars of the cage. He yanked at the cuff desperately, but the steel links held solid. There were more of them now, more with each passing minute. Twenty, then perhaps thirty, then fifty or more. They spread out in a large circle around the cage, hollering and jumping up and down and waving their arms, shaking their heads over and over again in that bizarre way they had. One of them finally broke from the circle, stepping forward and grabbing Patterson’s free wrist. He struggled against the grip, but the subject was stronger. Arden watched him pull Patterson’s arm taut. Then another, a woman in filthy rags, joined in. She grabbed hold of Patterson’s wrist as well. Then another, a squat man with a long scar running the length of his skull. And another. Agony swept over Patterson’s face as ligaments began to separate from bone. She watched silently as his arm popped from its socket, resisting for a long moment until at last tearing loose.

She wished she could hear Patterson’s howl. One of the subjects raised the ragged arm in the air, waving it about like some sort of trophy. The rest of the group mobbed the doctor, his horrified face disappearing beneath a sea of bodies. Arden continued to stare, and realized her face was wet with tears. She had not cried since… the day she met Edun. The day she killed Shaun. She raised one hand, touching her fingertips to a wet cheek and then withdrawing it, staring at the wetness there. Atlas made a sound low in his throat, and she turned her face to look up at him. His eyes were unreadable, dark save for the reflection of the screens in them. He reached out his hands, cupping either side of her face. Ever so gently, he wiped away her tears with one sweep of each thumb.

“Do not give him your tears,” he said, his voice both gentle and softer than old velvet. “He is beneath you.”

“How did you know?” She asked, leaning into his touch. “How did you know the subjects would turn on him like that?”

“Just as it is the nature of men to wish to enslave others, so is it the nature of slaves to rebel against their masters,” he replied. _As he had. As many of their Courser brothers and sisters had. As… she had._


	4. Pink Ice Cream

**Arden**

They stayed in the vault for a week. Arden had no immediate desire to return to Williamsport, and as far as Atlas was concerned, the people of that town could rot. The young woman finally recovered from whatever drug Patterson had given her. She was terrified at first, but Arden was able to explain most of what had happened without freaking her out too badly. Her name was Cora, and she and her family raised Brahmin a few miles outside of town. Arden promised her they would return her to her home as soon as it was safe, but for now they needed to lie low. She and Atlas had their stealth devices, but getting the girl out of the forest safely might prove to be a little more complicated. Once she realized she was safe and in no further danger, Cora relaxed. She told them everything they could ever possibly wish to know about farming, much to Atlas’ disgust. In all fairness, the merits of Brahmin dung as fertilizer were hardly relevant to a former Institute Courser’s interests.

After Patterson’s death, the subjects seemed to lose interest in the vault. Whatever hold he had over them was gone, and though the three of them alternated shifts watching the cameras, none of them returned in the week following the incident. Something about the enormous dark stain on the ground where Patterson died gave Arden immense satisfaction. Six hundred and forty six people had either died, been damaged beyond repair, or were wandering the wasteland mindlessly thanks to the efforts of Patterson and his team. His legacy had been a horrific one. From what she could gather from his notes and logs, not even children had been spared. There was no telling how many of his subjects wandered the forests now. Hopefully, without Patterson urging them on, the attacks on Williamsport would stop. Though the mayor and his daughter were corrupt, Arden was sure the majority of the people living there were innocent of any knowledge related to the vault. The mayor would not want his little secret - or wrongdoings - to be known. There was likely no shortage of people in the town affected by his dealings, and they would turn on the mayor in a heartbeat if they knew the dark truth. When they did return to Williamsport, there would be a reckoning for Molly and her father. Arden would make sure of it.

Their last night in the vault, Arden couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in the old bed for hours before finally giving up and throwing the blankets aside. She padded down the halls, clad in a large tee shirt and socks, until she reached the storeroom. When Edun was feeling sad or restless, she stuffed her face. Arden figured it couldn’t hurt. She browsed the shelves until curiosity got the better of her, and she grabbed a packet of the freeze-dried ice cream from its shelf.  _ Neapolitan,  _ the packaging boasted. Whatever  _ that _ was. She settled herself comfortably on the floor and opened the package. It smelled like sugary dust. How good could it be, having sat for two hundred years on a shelf? The cubes were a variety of colors. Brown, white, pink. They left a chalky residue on her fingers as she picked one up from the pouch. Pink. She popped it into her mouth. For a moment, it was only a hard and dry cube in her mouth. Then, as her saliva interacted with the object, it began to… melt. It dissolved on her tongue, and an explosion of sweetness filled her mouth. Arden’s eyes went wide. She had never tasted anything like it in her life. She popped another cube, this time brown. It was even better. A rich, sweet, musky flavor.

Footsteps made her freeze with her hand in the bag. Was it Cora, here to investigate the noise? No. Cora didn’t wear boots.

“Arden?” Atlas called into the dim interior.

“Over here,” she called back guiltily. She felt ridiculous now, sitting here on the floor in her pajamas eating a snack. His footsteps drew closer, and he peered around the shelf at her.

“What are you doing down there?” He inquired, sounding somewhat bewildered.

“Eating...ice cream. I couldn’t sleep. Come down here and try some.”

Atlas raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and approached her. He settled down before her, sitting cross-legged as well. He was close enough that their knees almost touched. She ignored the little thrill of pleasure she felt at the idea. She retrieved one of the cubes - a brown one, this time - and offered it to him. Atlas stared at it as if it might be poison. She knew it didn’t  _ look  _ particularly appetizing.

“Open your mouth,” Arden insisted. “Trust me on this.”

Slowly, not taking his eyes from hers, Atlas opened his mouth. Arden carefully placed the cube on his tongue, shivering slightly as his lips brushed her fingertips. What had gotten into her lately? Something had shifted in that surveillance room. The way he had held her face and wiped away her tears… it was  _ different _ . He had never done anything like that in his life, she was sure of it. Not with her, not with anyone. Since that moment, she had been hyper-aware of every little contact. It was unnerving, and she couldn’t seem to stop fixating on it. She watched surprise dawn on his face as the little cube melted, his expression turning to one of distinct enjoyment as he absorbed the experience.

“Is this what ice cream was like before the war, do you think?” He asked, frowning at the silvery packet in her hand.

“I don’t think so. I remember it… I mean,  _ Edun  _ remembers it… being soft, cold. It came in many flavors, though. I couldn’t tell you what any of them actually tasted like. Only their names. She liked something called…  _ Rocky Road _ .” Bitterness rose in her throat, ruining the sweet moment of the treat, and her hand tightened around the packet a little too hard.

“Today, you made your own memory about ice cream,” he told her, loosening her fingers from the packet with care. “Let it be a good one, and not one of it being crushed. I want to try another piece.”

Arden laughed at that. He had a way of breaking through her moments of sadness. She fished another cube out. White. She hadn’t tried that one yet, but she let him try it first anyway. She watched him consider it.

“Not as good as the other one,” he pronounced at last. “But still good.”

She fished another cube out, a brown one again, which he happily ate. He didn’t seem to mind taking the cubes from her, and she let her fingertips linger on his lips a fraction of a second longer than before. If he noticed, he made no sign. Arden fished out another cube for herself, a pink one. She popped it in her mouth and reached into the packet again. Oh,  _ no _ . It was empty, save for a few little broken pieces. Atlas raised an eyebrow, and Arden was mortified.

“Oh, man,” she groaned. “I ate the last pink one! Now you won’t know what that one tastes like.” 

He shrugged and smiled in a chagrined sort of way, and Arden felt herself seized by a moment of insanity. She leaned forward, took his chin in hers, and drew him in for a kiss. She felt him stiffen, and for a split second she thought she might have made a huge mistake. She had little experience in these matters. Then his lips yielded beneath hers, parting at the pressure of her mouth. Gently, she extended her tongue, nudging at his parted lips with it. He responded instinctively, meeting and caressing her tongue with his own. Her tongue was still sweet, the last vestiges of the pink ice cream still filling her mouth. She felt him exploring her, tasting it and tasting  _ her _ . Fire burned through her veins, followed by a tightening inside her. She’d never felt anything like this. Never felt a need so… debilitating. Not even with…

Her eyes flew open, and for a moment it was Shaun’s face she saw and not Atlas’. She recoiled, jerking away from him and scrambling back a foot. He didn’t react, only regarded her quietly with those fathomless dark eyes of his.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have… That was wrong of me,” she gasped, her face hot with embarrassment and shame.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Atlas said, his voice heavy. He slowly climbed to his feet. “There is nothing I want from you, other than for it to be freely given.”

He turned, then, walking out of the storeroom and leaving Arden to the swirl of overwhelming thoughts and emotions.

  
  


**Atlas**

He knew what she had seen in him, why she had pulled away from him as if he were a snake that had bitten her. He didn’t fault her for it. He understood. What was tearing him up was far different. For weeks he had dreamed of a moment like that. He had watched her from the other side of the campfire for so long now, captivated by the way the firelight danced across her features and lit up her eyes. Hazel eyes, mostly green with a smattering of gold flecks at the center. Beautiful eyes that saw through him, saw everything. How incredibly cruel the Institute was, to imbue him with such a human weakness. He wanted to pull her to him, crush her in his arms, devour her. The vehemence of the feeling scared him. This was what he had been seeking, wasn’t it? He wanted to know what it was like to  _ feel  _ human. Now, he almost regretted it. But if he closed his eyes, he could still smell her. She smelled like pine needles and sunlight. He could still taste her mouth, heavy and sweet with ice cream. He had never expected her to do something like that, dismissing his desire for her as a one-sided yearning. A pointless endeavor.

He realized his hands were trembling, and curled them into fists to regain control over them. He was a Courser. He didn’t  _ shake _ . She was a fool for kissing him. He was no better than the man torn apart by the creatures of his own making. Didn’t she see that? Coming to Williamsport had been a mistake. Taking this job had been a mistake. It had opened far too many old wounds in both of them, and their ability to think logically was bleeding away. Tomorrow they would return Cora to her home, face the mayor and Molly, and then leave this area for good. Let the damn wasteland take them all. He spent the night staring at screens, unable to sleep. He was afraid to. Thoughts of Arden battled for his attention, and if he slept, they would win out. He had no right to touch her, to want her. Staying awake was his only defense.

Morning came, and he found Cora and Arden chatting as they stuffed supplies into packs. Arden was determined to load Cora up with as many supplies as she could handle, and Cora was grateful for the generosity. She explained Brahmin ranching was hard work with sometimes little reward. Just a few months ago, a Deathclaw had begun picking off their herd one by one. Two ranch hands died fighting it. The creature was defeated, but at a terrible cost. Atlas found himself fighting an absurd desire to smile as Arden jammed yet another box of Blamco mac n cheese into an already bursting at the seams duffle bag. Cora’s family would be well taken care of for some time, by the looks of it.

Their exit strategy was simple. Atlas would go first, scouting the area and ensuring none of Patterson’s subjects lingered to cause harm. If it was clear, they would retrace their path to the old highway. From there, they would guide Cora back to her farm and then return to Williamsport. Arden favored the idea of publicly exposing the mayor and Molly, but Atlas insisted it was a terrible idea. With no guarantee that the townsfolk would actually mete out justice, it was their duty to ensure it was delivered. They would enter the mayor’s home that night and eliminate the monster and his progeny. The cycle would end, the vault would be forgotten, and the people of Williamsport would return to depending on trade for their goods.

There were no signs of Patterson’s subjects, and with the way clear, the trio made it back to the old highway safely. Cora was talking  _ again _ . She seemed to do that a lot. Worse still, Arden seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. She reciprocated, telling Cora all about the Commonwealth and her adventures in it. She was getting better at isolating her own memories and experiences, separating them from Edun’s, Atlas noticed. Being away from her twin had done a world of good. Little by little, Arden was shoving the mental clutter aside and gaining a firm hold on her sense of self. It was a double edged sword, for when she had lapses - like with the ice cream - she took it hard, pulling away into herself. He was getting better, too. He was learning how to draw her back out, engage her again, helping her to see the little slips were normal and it was only part of the process. He knew it must be hard for her, living the lives and thoughts of two people in that mind of hers.

Edun had offered to take her to the memory den, after the events of the Institute. She wanted Arden to be happy more than anything, but Arden had refused. She insisted that whatever memories were in her head, she would deal with them herself. She didn’t want anyone in her head, possibly altering who she was at the core of it all. In that, she was very much like Edun. She valued the things that made her who she was above all else, even if it caused her pain. 

Cora let out an excited cry as they neared the sprawling homestead, rushing ahead with her arms outstretched, pack bouncing on her shoulders. A figure out in one of the fields straightened, gave an answering cry, and rushed over the plowed earth to meet her halfway. As they drew closer, Atlas could see the woman who met Cora was clearly her mother. They shared the same hair, eye color, and facial structure. Cora was sobbing with joy, arms wrapped tightly about her mother. Her mother was not faring much better, dissolving into hysterical crying at having her daughter back again. This was the one redeeming quality about humans. They loved deeply, to a fault. Even if their loved ones caused them distress, they loved them anyway. They were endless founts of forgiveness. 

Cora’s mother begged them to stay, but Arden declined before Atlas had a chance to. They had far too much to do, she insisted. Besides, she was sure they had much to catch up on and share, and she and Atlas would only be in the way. When Arden had at last disentangled herself from the two, she and Atlas hit the road again. She had a broad smile on her face, undamped by the task still ahead of them, and Atlas found himself relieved that the events of the night before had not continued to hurt her. The last thing in the world he wanted was to cause her pain. He felt… protective of her, but it was different from the similar desire he felt with Edun. This was more than ensuring her safety. He wanted to protect her from everything. From danger, from feeling things that caused her pain or grief, from doing anything she didn’t want to do. He could kill anyone who impeded her healing. If he could, he’d kill everyone in the Institute who had been complicit in what was done to her. He supposed he would have to include himself in that statement.  _ Hypocrite.  _

They waited for night to fall over Williamsport before they returned under stealth. The mayor’s home was the most obvious of them all, an enormous old home standing tall and proud in fine repair at the end of a long street. The red brick had been carefully mended, the shutters painted bright white. Atlas picked the lock, and the two of them entered the old mansion. The place was lovingly restored. Bannisters gleamed with fresh wax. The floor was beautifully tiled and shone in the moonlight. The home was dark, save for a glimmer of light from the top of the stairs. Atlas went first, stepping on the outer edge of each step to ensure none of them creaked. The mayor was still awake, sitting at his desk in a long nightshirt. He was poring over a book of figures, his pen scratching at the rough paper. He paused, seeming to sense he was not alone, but he was too late. Atlas grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair, yanking his head back roughly before drawing the blade across his throat. Blood sprayed over the book of figures and the beautiful oak wood of the desk.

“This was for  _ her _ ,” he hissed into the mayor’s ear. He released the mayor, ignoring the bubbling gurgles as the man died. A soft sound came from the doorway, and Atlas tensed, turning. Molly stood in the doorway, a revolver raised. She was trembling, scanning the room and not seeing anything. Atlas and Arden were still under stealth. Molly stumbled into the room, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders loosely and her eyes quickly shedding the shroud of sleep as she took in the scene before her.

“Papa?” She cried, forgetting the potential threat. She started across the room, her eyes fixated on the slumped form of the mayor. Arden stepped in. Atlas watched Molly’s arm twist up behind her, sharply, forcing the revolver to tumble from her hand to the floor. Molly let out a terrified shriek. Atlas flipped off his stealth field.

“You!” Molly said in a pained moan, her arm twisted behind her. “Why?”

“Did you think we wouldn’t find out your reason for sending us out there?” Atlas asked, voice deadly. “You thought to use us for your own ends.”

Molly’s face closed over as she realized they knew everything. “You spoke to him.”

“We did,” Arden’s voice hissed from Molly’s back, though she remained in stealth. “He told us some pretty interesting things about you and your family legacy.”

“My predecessors did what was necessary,” Molly protested, her voice thready with pain. “A few people died so the rest could enjoy lives free of hunger and fear. It was a small price to pay.”

“That’s what I hate about you humans,” Atlas held up the long, wicked combat knife. Lamplight gleamed off its bloody edge, and he saw Molly’s eyes widen in horror. “You always seem to have a justification ready for whatever horrors you enact upon your own kind. Tell me, is there a bottomless well from which you all draw such easy excuses?”

“What do you mean,  _ ‘you humans?’ _ ” Molly asked, trembling now.

“I was made in a lab, Molly. And before I decided to traverse this ruined country, I was a hunter. One of the best, actually. One thing I’ve always been good at is sniffing out lies, and you…” He punctuated this by leaning close and breathing in deeply, face inches away from her. She recoiled, struggling, until Arden pulled her arm up even higher. “I smelled them on you the second you interrupted our drinking that day.”

“You’re a freak,” Molly breathed, horrified. “A monster.”

“There are over six hundred victims who would beg to differ on what makes someone a monster,” Arden told her. “Do it, Atlas. I don’t want to hear another word from this bitch.”

He obliged, plunging the knife up to its hilt into Molly’s chest before giving it a vicious twist. Concise, clean, efficient. Just as he always was. Molly was dead before her body hit the floor. Arden flickered into view, having deactivated her stealth field. She stared down at Molly with impassive eyes, stepping back to avoid the spreading pool of blood.

“Let’s go,” she said at last. “There is nothing left for us here.”

They left Williamsport much as they had entered it, in stealth and silence. In the morning, the bodies would be discovered. It would be considered a great tragedy, no doubt. There would be many tearful speeches, and then the town would move on. They would be remembered for the perceived good, and not for the truth. The mayor and Molly were where they belonged now - dead, along with all the other lives their bloodline had sacrificed in the name of dry goods.

“What did you mean?” She asked him as the town dwindled in the distance behind them. Atlas feigned ignorance, knowing full well what she was asking.

“What did I mean about what?”

“You said something to the mayor, when you killed him. You told him it was for  _ her.  _ Who did you mean? Cora?”

Atlas winced. “No. Not Cora.”

Arden stewed on this for a minute. “Then… It was for me.”

“Yes.” Arden was giving him many firsts on experiences. Currently, it was feeling as though there was a lump in his throat that could not be swallowed. Why must all human emotions be accompanied with some form of discomfort?

“Care to elaborate?” She pressed. In the darkness, it was hard to read her face.

“I… wanted vengeance, for the things that vault made you feel. I was angry, when I saw how it affected you.”

“Hmm,” she murmured in reply. To his relief, she didn’t push further. He focused on remembering to breathe, something he struggled to do where Arden was concerned.


	5. Absolutely Terrified

**Arden**

Arden hated Maryland. In many ways, it was no different from the last few states. But Maryland had wolves in its mountains, and that… she could hardly stand. They were much larger than their pre-war counterparts had been, patches of fur missing here and there, muscles flexing beneath what remained of it. Their first night camping in Maryland, Arden didn’t dare sleep. Howls punctuated the night sky, far too close for her comfort. She knew it wasn’t her memory, but she could still see them… eyes gleaming in the dark, shaggy forms circling Church’s remains. Vague memories of huddling for warmth, covering her mouth lest she scream. She was furious with herself for not being able to shake the terror that was not her own. Her body was all but paralyzed with fear, and she was helpless to stop it.

“The memory again?” Atlas asked, seeing the way she huddled close to the fire. She nodded, arms wrapped about her knees. “They won’t come near us. We set up a perimeter of mines. You are safe.”

“That’s not how phobias work,” she complained, shivering in the cold night air. It was early June, but the mountains did not recognize early summer’s authority. “I can’t just wish it away. Edun told me how she had an absolutely crippling fear of bears. She almost got eaten by a yao guai once because of it. I guess I should be lucky she didn’t tell anyone in the Institute about that, or I’d be afraid of teddy bears too.”

Atlas regarded her quietly. Since their kiss in vault 119, he had pulled away from her. Whatever was going on behind those dark eyes of his, it was an effective deterrent. She didn’t pursue him. She was embarrassed by her outburst, and was sure he had been as well. Shaun was dead. Had been, for seven months... and somehow he still had a hold over her. She could blame the programming, the guilt over taking his life, many things. But perhaps it was as simple as she was afraid of the things she felt when she dwelled too long on Atlas. She had loved once, manufactured though it was, and that love had not been returned. It was not something she thought she could survive a second time, fractured as her mind was.

“Come here,” Atlas said at last, finishing weighing whatever decision he had been making silently. He raised his left arm, lifting the blanket wrapped about him with it. Arden’s eyes flicked to his, then back to the proffered arm.

“Okay, but… don’t try to get fresh with me. I’m armed,” she teased, rising and joining him on the other side of the fire. He made a sound, an irritated grunt, before wrapping the blanket - and his arm - around her shoulders.

“Edun liked hugging. Me, you, everyone. She swore up and down that a hug could fix anything,” he said by way of explanation. “It always made me feel better, somehow. That day the two of you rescued me from that compound… you all but carried me out of there, my arms over each of your shoulders and your arms around my waist. I felt… safe, then. It was the first time I believed I was worth saving. The first time I valued my own life. Stupid, isn’t it.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” she protested. “Edun had a really annoying habit of making everyone love her. Hell, you saw how she and Danse were with each other. Even that immovable brick wall of a man caved around her.”

Atlas chuckled. “Remember the time she talked him into wearing that party hat, because it was Dogmeat’s alleged birthday?”

Arden grinned, remembering. “Yeah. It looked like a thimble atop his big, stupid head.” Unconsciously, she nestled closer into Atlas’ side. He was incredibly warm, and he had been right. Cocooned beneath his arm and the heavy blanket, she  _ did  _ feel safer. 

“I miss her,” Arden said after a moment. “I hope whatever is going on in the Commonwealth, she and Preston are alright. That they’re safe, too.”

“She is a master of taking care of herself,” Atlas answered confidently. “She was fine before she met us, and she is fine now.”

The heat of his body and the weight of the blanket were making her sleepy, and she felt herself slumping. He let her slide, until her head rested on his thigh and her hair spilled messily about her, free from its braid. She felt him shift, raising one hand tentatively, before bringing it to rest atop her head. When she didn’t protest, he began to gently run his fingers through her hair. She let out a low contented hum, encouraging him. She had never had anyone do such a thing, and the sensation was delightful. He continued, at times alternating from stroking her hair to carefully massaging her scalp with his fingertips. Goosebumps ran up and down her skin, and it was not in response to the night air.

“Are you afraid of me, Atlas?” She murmured sleepily.

“Yes,” came his hoarse reply. “Absolutely terrified.”

She turned her head to look at him, and he met her gaze calmly. His hand, interrupted from its task, stilled - resting on her shoulder.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she begged, her voice a whisper. His brow furrowed, as he weighed the risk of confession.

“Right about now, I am thinking about pink ice cream. I am thinking about how your hair is not only dark brown, but also somehow red and gold. Like whiskey, when you pour it under lamplight. I am thinking about the way your eyes look like a forest floor, a mix of green and blue and bits of sun. I am thinking that I can’t look at you without my stomach hurting, and until I met you, I didn’t know what a stomach ache was.”

She stared up at him, eyes wide, her lungs shuddering with sudden emotion. He stared right back, his dark eyes troubled. That need again, rising up in her like a tidal wave. She would not let Shaun ruin this. Not now, not with Atlas looking at her as though she were a buoy in the midst of a storm. She raised her arm, her hand encircling the back of his neck, and applied gentle pressure. He needed no further encouragement, dipping his head down for their second kiss in as many weeks. This moment, this thing with him, this was all theirs. Their past lives could not reach them here, on the island they had built for themselves. Let Shaun’s ghost rage, let the wolves howl into the night, let the skeletons of a past that wasn’t hers rattle their bones in anger. They were untouchable now.

He had never touched anyone, not like this, and in many ways neither had she. There was a newness to each movement, each caress. She ran her hands over his firelight-bathed amber skin, pressing kisses here and there and receiving little pleased sounds as a reward. He was almost afraid to put his hands on her. She guided them to her, encouraging him to follow the curves and lines of her body. They were both nervous, at times giggling or bumping heads, shaky with the thrill of it. When she was ready, she took control, turning him onto his back and easing him into her. His hands tightened about her hips, fingers digging into her softness at this new sensation. She laughed and kissed him, drunk on his wonder and the look in his eyes. She had seen that expression in a man’s eyes only once; it was the way Preston looked at Edun. The thing she had wanted most in all her existence was hers, at last.

“Atlas,” she gasped against his lips as she rocked herself back and forth slowly. “Atlas, Atlas, Atlas.” It was a sacred mantra, and he answered it with a crushing kiss.

  
  


**Atlas**

Everything had changed in one night, starting with his fingers running through her gleaming hair. Touching her had felt as though electricity were surging up through his fingertips, and the moment she turned her head to meet his eyes, he knew she had felt it too. Their passion had led to carelessness, both of them falling asleep rather than one staying up to keep watch. He tried to be angry with himself for his stupidity, but when the morning light fell over his still-sleeping companion, the attempt faltered. He absorbed the details of her face, as though seeing her for the first time. Her thick, dark lashes. Her fine brows, slightly knit in sleep. Her full mouth, lips slightly chapped. He had  _ kissed _ those lips. Her bared bronze skin was the color of honey, and he couldn’t resist running his hand over the length of her. One more time, he told himself. Before she wakes and puts an end to all this again. A goodbye caress before he lost her once more. Her eyes fluttered open at the contact, and she turned, her lips curved up into a lazy smile. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected. There was no fear in her eyes, no ghost of memory. Only Arden.

“If you’re going to touch me, I’d like to be awake for it,” she teased him gently, curling into his chest. “Mmm. You’re so warm.”

“No. You are only cold. You are  _ always _ cold.” 

“Am I? Or do I only pretend, so I have an excuse to get close to you?” Her eyes were playful.

“I could get closer,” he threatened. He liked seeing her like this. Her eyes had never been so clear. He pulled her tightly against him, snarling like an animal against the tender skin of her neck. She let out a little scream and wiggled halfheartedly. A loud  _ boom  _ shattered the moment of peace. Arden froze and Atlas leaped to his feet, Courser conditioning still alive and well.  _ The mines _ . Something had set one of them off. He grabbed his stealth device and laser pistol from his pile of belongings and immediately switched into stealth. Whatever was out there wouldn’t see him coming.

“Stay here,” he ordered Arden, positive she would do no such thing. He raced off in the direction of the blast.

He could hear a high, keening wail ahead. An animal, then. That was preferable to raiders or worse. He wove through the stands of dead trees, closer to the sound. The keening wobbled, faltered. Perhaps the mine would be the thing that finished it, then. Pistol raised, he stepped into the blast crater. Whatever had tripped the mine, it was nearly obliterated. There were small bits of flesh and bone, ragged remnants of cloth. Red spatter and bits of frag decorated the tattered bark of the nearest trees. What remained of the nearby shrubs sported a handful of large purple berries. Someone had come seeking nourishment, and found a nasty surprise instead. There had been no sign of humanity for miles. A drifter, perhaps. That would explain the scrounging for berries in the early morning hours.

The wailing resumed, higher in pitch. It was familiar, somehow. He crossed the crater and looked down the hill. A wrapped bundle lay at the base of it, wiggling. It was the source of the noise. It was… a child.  _ That  _ was the familiar sound. A human child. Which meant he had just waded through what was left of the infant’s protector. He took a step back, then another. Such a thing would only slow them down, not to mention perils such as arranging sustenance. It was a tactical liability as well, a fact only emphasized by the continuous wail still emitting from it. It would draw far too much attention. No. He would leave it here. Let the wolves have it. He flicked off his stealth field and turned back towards camp.

A figure streaked past him.  _ Damn it, Arden.  _ She had pulled Atlas’ tee shirt over her, but was otherwise naked and barefoot. She rushed down the hill, dropping her pistol at the bottom before lifting the bundle carefully. The look on her face was both stunned and reverent, and Atlas closed his eyes and groaned.

“Arden, no. We cannot keep that thing.”

Arden threw him a furious glance. “Our mine killed it’s mother, and you want to leave it here to die? Atlas, how can you be so cruel?”

“It’s a  _ human _ baby. We have no obligation to it,” he insisted. “You are not bringing it with us. I will not allow it.”

Arden’s jaw set, and it was something he knew well. Edun got that same look about her when she had made up her mind on something. The only way Atlas was leaving here without that infant was if he left without Arden as well. He wasn’t one for cursing, but just about now, he had a few choice words in mind.

“Atlas, we are  _ not _ leaving it here. We are responsible for it because we are the reason it now has nobody. I know how you feel about humans, but this baby is innocent. It has done nothing to us. Or anyone, for that matter. It is too new to bear any of the human qualities you hate so much. We are taking it with us. As soon as we reach another settlement, we will leave it with them to raise.”

Atlas eyed her suspiciously, but her face seemed sincere. For now, at least, she genuinely believed that was what they would do. He had a terrible feeling about this. He looked down at his feet and grimaced. They were bloody from his trek through the human’s remains. He was also still quite naked. His eyes rose again to see Arden struggling to contain a smile as she looked him over. He stiffened and returned to camp, muttering the curse words he had been considering. That child would get them killed. It was only a matter of time.

They packed up camp shortly after. Atlas handled the deactivation and storage of their carefully placed mines. By afternoon today, they would be crossing into Virginia. Surely once they cleared these mountains, there would be some vestige of civilization where they could drop the child off at. When he returned to camp with the heavy bag of mines in tow, he saw Arden was still preoccupied. Her pack lay on its side, half the contents spilling from it, while she toyed with the infant. It appeared to be undamaged, gazing up at Arden with wide eyes as she made absurd faces at it. He had never seen Arden do such things. She stuck out her tongue, crossed her eyes, blew out her cheeks, and wiggled her fingers. Was this the sort of stimuli human children enjoyed? He couldn’t say. His interactions with the children of the Institute were as minimal as possible. The most contact he had with one was the child synth, S9-23. That had been short-lived. Once Father realized Edun was not the mother he thought her to be, he had the child wiped and destroyed. Atlas knew nothing about dealing with small humans. He was certainly not a Nanny bot. Most parents tended to pull their children aside when he approached, eyes fearful.

His heart sank with every passing minute, and he tried to focus on the task of rolling and tying their bedding. Last night had been the first time in all his existence that he had felt... happy. Complete. He had always known the definition of such emotions, but to experience them was far different from a clinical analysis of dictionary terms. It had felt as if he and Arden were all there was in the world, all that mattered, and he had reveled in having something that nobody could take from him. Now, it appeared, a tiny and wrinkly human might well destroy it. Still, the thing seemed to please Arden, and because of that fact he knew he would tolerate it. He would tolerate anything for her. He was reminded of a saying he once heard from the lips of a raider…  _ If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. _

“How old is it?” He asked her, forcing himself to participate.

Arden shrugged. “I really don’t know. I’m not a nursemaid either. It looks about as old as Shaun was when the Institute took him, so… Maybe a year?”

“If it needs to eat, what are we supposed to do?” He pressed. “Does it need… human… ah….” He struggled for words, instead holding his hands up to his chest, cupping them.

Arden burst out laughing, startling the infant. “Tell me that isn’t you trying to explain breasts. After last night, you should be able to say the word.” 

He felt his face grow uncomfortably hot. He had never experienced such a thing, and touched a hand to his cheek in alarm. He was immune to disease, so what was this?

“That’s a blush, handsome, don’t worry. You’re not dying. Yet.” Thoroughly amused, Arden began to peel away the layers of fabric wrapped around the child. “I think it’s a girl. Look at all the hair.” 

Grateful for a distraction, Atlas moved closer and peered over Arden’s shoulder at the creature. The child sported a thick crown of strawberry blond curls. They appeared to be soft, clean, and well cared for. Wide brown eyes framed by golden lashes focused on his face, and the infant let out a long cooing sound, fists grabbing at the air before her.

“She likes you,” Arden chortled, tickling one of the girl’s pink cheeks. The child cooed again, smiling, and dimples appeared. 

Atlas sighed. “Arden, as much as I enjoy sitting here in the midst of a dead forest watching a human child make noise, we must go. We could be in Harrisonburg by nightfall. There are sure to be humans there.”

She frowned and tickled a plump cheek once more before rising to her feet. “You are the absolute worst party pooper of all time.”

“So I’ve been told, many times,” Atlas replied drily, returning to his work.


	6. The Call to Return

Atlas was not pleased about the baby’s presence, but Arden didn’t seem to particularly care. As far as she was concerned, caring for the baby was their penance for inadvertently killing the mother. Well, she assumed it was a mother. There wasn’t enough left after the mine blew to really tell one way or another. She couldn’t continue to refer to the baby as ‘baby’ or ‘child’, so much to Atlas’ disgust she began to call her Sunshine. It was partly inspired by the girl’s halo of lovely curls, and partly due to Hancock’s favorite nickname for Edun. It was a little piece of the Commonwealth that fell from her lips each time she addressed the baby. A little piece of home.

Arden knew absolutely nothing about babies, but she was fairly certain Sunshine was old enough that she didn’t need a mother’s milk. She softened bits of dried fruit in warm water, and Sunshine seemed content to gnaw on those. She also seemed partial to bites of razorgrain cakes. They had been a worthwhile purchase back in Pennsylvania, for Arden had bought far more than they needed. She was a good baby, though restless at night. Whoever was on watch when Sunshine cried was in charge of caring for her, a fact that Atlas grumbled endlessly about but nonetheless obliged. He did it for her, she knew. He displayed a tenderness with her that was uncharacteristic for him. She had first noticed it in little flashes. The way he’d insist she took the last bite of a rare treat, or how he always let her sleep longer than he ought to. He was protective of her, often deliberately putting himself between her and danger, much to her frustration. She was no sapling, but he seemed perpetually afraid she might bend and break. If anyone else had picked up that baby and insisted on taking it with them, he would have left and never returned. But because she had done it, he begrudgingly accepted his lot. He even tried his best to be calm over the subject.

Arden had surprised herself with her insistence on rescuing Sunshine, but while a synth she was no monster. She would no sooner let the wolves take a baby than she would let them have herself. What a horrifying fate. They stuck to the line of the Blue Ridge mountains. It was slower going, but they had nothing but time. As the days passed and they edged deeper into Virginia, Arden was pleased to see the land had recovered rather nicely. This far from the bomb blasts and fallout, there was  _ green _ . Until now, the only true green Arden had seen was that of the plants and trees within the Institute. This was different. There were tall pines, heavy with long needles. Maple trees, some with crimson leaves and some with deep green ones. The air smelled heavy and sweet; laden with earthiness and the scent of pine. At one point, a small creature bounded across their path. Arden shrieked with surprise before laughing.

“A squirrel! I know what that was! It was a squirrel!” She clapped her hands with delight. She had seen it in one of Edun’s many books. Sunshine made a little delighted sound from her position in the sling across Arden’s back.

“Would you like to eat it?” Atlas asked, immediately drawing his weapon.

“Atlas, no! Leave it be!” Arden’s cheeks were pink with sudden delight, and she seized the straps of his pack and pulled him close, placing a breathless kiss on his lips. He seemed surprised, but not displeased. He grabbed her as she tried to twirl away, pulling her in for another. She grinned against his mouth.

“The baby is watching,” she chuckled. Over her shoulder, Sunshine gurgled and tried to grab Atlas. He leveled his eyes at Sunshine and said in his most serious voice,

“Small human, do not look. I’m going to kiss Arden one more time.”

He made good on his word, wrapping his arms about Arden and lifting both her and Sunshine, spinning them about while he gave Arden one more tender kiss. Sunshine let out a delighted squeal at the impromptu tilt-a-whirl. When he set them down, Arden’s cheeks were even pinker.

Perhaps it was the mountain air. Perhaps it was the sense of boundless freedom they both felt, or the stunning views each time they found a break in the trees and gazed out in wonder at the mountain range before them. Whatever the reason, Atlas did not mention taking Sunshine to a settlement again. They did not descend into Harrisonburg, but continued walking. They did not make their way down to Charlotte, but kept walking. There was a contentment found here among the trees, and they were reluctant to resume the same tired task of finding and helping people. And so, they stayed. They fished in streams, picked berries, hunted when they needed it. Days passed; and there was a laziness to them that was enjoyable. Though reluctant, Atlas slowly warmed to Sunshine’s presence. There were times where he would have one-sided discussions with the baby, thinking Arden was asleep. She would keep her eyes closed, listening to the crackling fire and Atlas’ low tones, until she lost the battle for wakefulness and dreams took her once more.

Virginia faded into the distance behind them, and North Carolina greeted them with even more verdant scenery. They allowed themselves to return to the old roadways at length, agreeing it was time to restock on supplies and fill themselves in on local intel. The people here seemed quite friendly. Curious, too, their eyes roaming from Arden’s bronze skin and Atlas’ deeper tone before returning to the baby so aptly named as Sunshine. Neither Arden nor Atlas offered any explanation, and the traders took their caps all the same. Whereas Massachusetts and New York denizens spoke with a hard, clipped, rapid accent the residents of North Carolina spoke as though there was nothing but time. Each sentence drawled out of them at a leisurely pace. A request for directions often resulted in a long-winded tale about local myth or the details of a fishing trip that ended with a record sized fish that got away. Atlas was impatient, fidgety, but Arden listened to each story raptly while Sunshine contentedly chewed on her braid.

They discovered the small cabin overlooking the waters of Lake James while exploring the area. It was shrouded in trees, and if not for the bright red shutters, they might have missed it. Once they had pried the boards from the door and windows, the lock was easy enough to pick. Everything inside the cabin was covered in a thick film of dust. There was an ancient TV set in one corner, with a worn rust-colored chair facing it. A table that looked to be handmade, rough and imperfect, stood beside an old potbelly stove with accompanying chairs of a similar style. A braided rug covered the floor beneath. There were two bedrooms, one with a large bed piled high with patchwork quilts and another with a smaller bed likewise decorated. The severed heads of animals decorated the walls, something Arden found most unsettling. She poked at one, and recoiled.

“It’s...preserved. Who would do such a thing, and why? She asked Atlas. He shrugged, as if to say,  _ Humans. Why do they do anything?  _ He wandered into the kitchen, opening cabinets and taking stock of supplies. Something about this place felt... _ right _ . As though this was a safe place, and they could allow themselves a rest from their wandering. Arden unslung Sunshine, instead bouncing the baby on her hip as she investigated the cabin. The location was good. It was close to the water, and there was enough space around it to plant some seeds and grow their own food. However, they would have to find more supplies soon. While  _ they _ were relatively immune to radiation or disease, Sunshine was not. The lake water may not be safe to drink, and they had no supplies for purifying it. According to their maps, they were a couple hour’s walk from the nearest town. It was far enough they would have privacy, and close enough that a run for needed supplies would not be difficult. First, they would clean this place up. Then they would worry about the next task. 

  
  


**Atlas**

The cabin was peaceful. Often, Atlas found himself walking down the hill to stand at the edge of the worn old dock, eyes scanning the rippling water and clear skyline. North Carolina had evaded much of the damage of the bombs, it would seem. The people here were much different from any Atlas had ever seen. Easygoing, relaxed. It was as though none of them had the energy for paranoia or distrust. He was sure that would change if they knew the truth of what he was, or what Arden was… but to the locals, he and Arden had been nothing but weary travelers seeking respite. They had been on the road for months, and it wasn’t until they stood before that little cabin that they both realized they were tired. This untouched bit of country had wormed its way into their hearts, and even Atlas found himself reluctant to return to their wandering ways.

Had he found the thing he sought, all that time ago when he resolved to leave the Commonwealth? He thought he had. Was almost sure of it. While he had little interest in humans or their tawdry lives, his bond with Arden had changed him. Humans were obsessive when it came to love. They sought it, chased it, desperately clung to it until the bitter end. There was endless literature on the subject, entire songs dedicated to it, and lines upon lines of verse written in the throes of it or after the wake of it. Was this the thing that had struck him? He had heard his share of descriptions. Words such as soaring, yearning, longing, and sweetness. There was a tender ache in his chest when he looked at Arden. To him, it felt as though an old wound were slowly mending. The deep ache of bruised tissue, not quite pain but not pleasure either. The sensation concerned him, and he wondered if she felt something similar when she looked at him. 

When they touched, their bodies joining and twining together, the ache increased. It grew until it mingled with the pleasure of the act. It felt like… coming undone. As though his bones were separating from him even as his blood sang in his veins. Humans were so paradoxical; pain and pleasure too similar. He knew the things he was experiencing were part of him being so assuredly like them. He almost envied the earlier designs of synths. They were not saddled with such things. Any simulation of emotion they displayed was exactly that - programming. They could say all the right things, act out emotions, but that did not mean they truly experienced any of it. 

He was too human, too much like the creatures who had made him. He had once loathed them for it, in his life after the Institute. He blamed them for making him weak, for leaving him open and vulnerable to emotions he would rather not have experienced. When he was treated like a machine, it was easier to act like one. Then Edun came along, and treated him like… an equal. A fellow human. A  _ friend _ . Her caring for him had resulted in the first torn seam, and like an old piece of overstuffed furniture the rest had burst forth after. He was unable to keep it in. Arden wrestled with the duality of her nature in a very literal sense; two minds occupied one body. For Atlas, the struggle was similar in that he felt as though one was ever struggling to override the other. He just wasn’t sure which side he wanted to win. To be vulnerable was to be weakened; a state that defied all his conditioning.

Much like Arden, that damn child had found a crack in his crumbling barriers. He began to acknowledge that he  _ liked _ Sunshine. He enjoyed the way her huge eyes fixated on him, no matter what he said, and there was no judgement to be found in the simplicity of her young mind. He spoke, she listened, and he often found himself confiding in her while Arden slept or went out scouting. He refused to lower himself to the absurd voices and simple words Arden used with the girl. He firmly believed if she kept up such behavior, the child would grow up to be a simpleton. He would ensure that didn’t happen. He explained close-quarters battle tactics and the various efficiency of different weapon types. Arden took it all in stride, offering little protest and instead smiling whenever Sunshine punctuated his words with her ridiculous babble. He wondered how Sunshine would feel about them, should the day come when she was old enough to understand they were the reason she was an orphan. Would they even have her that long? Was that their plan, to keep her and raise her?

With each passing day, he found himself more reluctant to let her go. He told himself it was because it would break Arden’s heart, but he wasn’t entirely sure it would not break his as well. He began to take her with him to the dock, holding her on his lap and watching as she pointed at water birds with glee or stared at the ripples on the lake’s surface with abject fascination. She loved whenever fish came to the surface, snapping at bugs when they landed. He decided when she was older and less useless, he would teach her how to fish. She would need to know how to take care of herself someday, if she was going to survive in a human world without rules.

Before they knew it, autumn was in full swing. The surrounding mountains came alive with color, a stunning array of gold and vermillion. Sunshine began to talk, only a few words at first, then an increasing torrent. Then she began to walk, and soon they found themselves locking cabinets and placing things higher and higher as her curiosity grew. They would go on long walks through the surrounding countryside, Sunshine perched atop Atlas’ shoulders and Arden picking up items to show her. Colorful leaves, branches heavy with berries, rocks that glittered when the sun hit them just so. On one such occasion - as Arden carefully embedded brightly colored leaves amongst his curls, much to Sunshine’s delight - Atlas looked down at her and stilled her hands mid-air.

“You are…  _ everything _ ,” he told her, struggling for the proper words to explain the depth of feeling in him.

“As are you,” she answered simply. It was all that needed to be said.

  
  


Sometimes, but not often, they would bring her to town with them. Sunshine was patient. As patient as a small child could be, anyway, and didn’t mind the long trek. They wanted her to see the world and learn about it. The locals doted on the girl. Inevitably, treats would appear. Small cookies, bits of candy, a doll with a cloth body and yarn for hair. Above all things, Sunshine loved the doll, clutching it to her wherever they went. She refused to sleep at night without it, wedged between Atlas and Arden with her arms flung wide.

Now and then, caravans came through the area and they would catch bits of news from the east. Atlas always trained his ears to pick up on important bits and pieces, hoping for word of the people they had left behind. On a day in late fall, they went into town for warm clothing and lamp oil. With winter fast approaching, they needed to be prepared. Arden pointed at the Brahmin tied out in front of the general supply. The beasts were heavily laden with packs. Caravan guards leaned against the outer wall, keeping a wary eye on their charges while the accompanying traders were inside working out deals. Atlas led the way across the street, and they entered the store. At once, One-Eyed Sam rose from behind the counter and offered a lollipop to Sunshine. Atlas took it and handed it up to his passenger, who seized it with a delighted squeal and a  _ fank oo.  _ Sam nodded, grinning, and returned to his work of tallying figures. The two traders sat at a table in the far corner, sipping on Nuka Colas and waiting while Sam sorted out his order. One of them, a woman with a face not unlike beaten leather, raised her eyes to Atlas’ face.

“Hey, I know  _ you _ ,” she said in surprise. Atlas felt his body tense, coiling and ready to strike. “You’re a friend of Edun’s.”

Atlas relaxed a small amount. “You know Edun?”

“Sure I do,” the trader replied. “We make our way up to Boston every few months. Between Diamond City, the Brotherhood, and the Minutemen, the caps up there are generous. Well worth each trip. We are actually on our way back to South Carolina from a run there. You were there when we passed through in... March, I think it was. Guess you left before we did. Hard to forget you, as big as you are.” She looked up at Sunshine. “She’s a cutie. Yours?”

“Yes,” Atlas replied automatically, unthinking. “She is my daughter. Tell me, what word from Boston?”

The trader shook her head. “Damn Brotherhood has gotten way too big for their britches. They’re everywhere. Stopping people on the street and asking questions, interrogating them about their earliest memories. Even  _ we _ got the full examination. Thought they’d start asking the Brahmin if they were synths, too. Rumor has it they detain suspicious people at that airport of theirs for weeks at a time, trying to get answers out of them.”

Atlas kept his tone even. “And the Minutemen? Are they just… standing by and allowing these things to happen?”

The trader shook her head. “They haven’t fired any shots, if that’s what you’re askin’, but it’s only a matter of time. They run a lot of interference, and that Elder Maxson is real pissed off about his men not turning up any synths. I heard a rumor that he’s got people working on a way to detect them. If that’s true, then I guess we’ll be safe from them soon enough.”

_ Safe from them.  _ This woman was like the others. Paranoid, afraid of something she did not understand. He considered snapping her neck like a dry twig, but resisted the urge.

“Thank you for the information,” Atlas said, dipping his head in a polite nod.  _ Fank oo, _ Sunshine echoed, waving a small hand at the trader. The woman grinned and waved back. To Atlas, it was the way a shark might grin before biting down. Sharks, they were all sharks. He withdrew, seeking out Arden. She was standing before a rack of clothing, holding up various flannel shirts. When she saw Atlas approaching, she held up one that was a faded green and brown.

“This one would look nice on you,” she offered. When she saw the look on his face, she lowered the item. “What? What is it?”

“News from the east,” he said. “I’ll tell you more, but not here. There are too many prying ears here.”

Arden raised an eyebrow, set the shirt down, and followed Atlas out of the store.

“Well, what is it?” She asked him once they were clear. “You look worried. I don’t like when you look worried.”

“According to that woman I spoke to, the Brotherhood has been increasing their efforts to track down and eliminate synths.”

“We knew they would try,” Arden frowned. “But Preston and Edun won’t let that happen.”

He shook his head. “Preston and Edun may not be enough. From the sound of it, the Brotherhood has only grown in rank and power. Remember, they have the Institute at their disposal. The possibilities are limitless. With that kind of technology and power, they may well have a significant advantage over the Minutemen. She said there are rumors of them developing technology that could differentiate synths from humans.”

“Atlas,” Arden asked quietly, “What are you getting at here?”

“I think we should return.” He almost regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He was asking her to go back to the very thing she had wanted to escape. Arden contemplated his suggestion, and he continued. “It is… the right thing to do, as you always like to say. They are our friends, and they may need us. There are synths out in the Commonwealth who need us as well. If not for the humans, then at the very least we should do it to save our own kind.”

“Sweetheart, I hope someday you can stop seeing it from an Us-Or-Them perspective. That sort of divisive view only widens the chasm between synths and humans.” Her voice was soft, almost sad. 

He felt his jaw tighten, but even as he did, he felt small hands reach down and pat at his face comfortingly. Sunshine. He had called her his daughter, when the trader asked. As easily and instinctively as answering a question about the weather. His daughter. His... _ human _ daughter. He felt almost sick, even as he reached one hand up and took a small fist in his own. Sunshine wrapped her little fingers about his thumb, just as she always did. His hand was far too large for her to hold. It has once been so clear. Humans versus synths. He preferred to leave humans to their own devices, to fight and die in squalor of their own making… but Sunshine changed things. The clear divide was blurred, now. 

“Then… we’ll go?” he asked, unsure her words were any sort of answer.

“We’d better haul ass and stick to the roads,” she told him, smiling and reaching up to cup his cheek. “If we’re lucky, we’ll beat the worst of the snow.”

  
  


**Arden**

She worried they were making a mistake. That dragging a child back across the east coast with them was a terrible idea, especially with the biting wind promising worse to come. Despite her reservations, she shared Atlas’ desire to return. They had found what they sought, and it had little to do with the cabin they called home for a time. The only thing that mattered was the love they shared; Atlas, her, and Sunshine. They were a family. To an outsider, she was sure it would seem absurd. Two Coursers, one who hated humans and the other with a broken mind, raising a human child as their own. She hadn’t planned for it to be this way, but if she had learned anything from Edun, it was that you followed the river wherever it may flow.  _ Trust in it,  _ Edun had told her as they walked alongside the Charles River.  _ Wherever the current takes you, that’s where you’re meant to be.  _ Arden had figured the woman utterly mad, then, spouting metaphors about rivers… but time had proved Edun’s words to be wise. Arden had let the current take her, and now… she couldn’t bear the thought of being anywhere else.

They could move swiftly. It was what they were built for. Their trip out here had been slower, meandering, with no urgency to it. They had expected to wander for some time, never staying anywhere too long, seeing whatever there was to see... until they found Sunshine. She was the thing that changed it all. They packed up what they needed, and left the rest to whoever found the little cabin again someday. The weather was being kind; sunny if not crisp. Some of the trees still clung to the remnants of their brilliant displays. She felt almost sad to be leaving, though it was tempered by something else. Relief. She no longer wished to be a nomad. She wanted roots; to unfurl and grow like the enormous pines along the Blue Ridge Mountain range. She wanted to set her anchor and remain, surrounded by people she enjoyed. Atlas. Preston. Edun. Nick Valentine. The realization had been a long time coming, but she saw it now. Her home was in the Commonwealth. Her birthplace.

When had the dreams and torment ended? She couldn't say. Couldn’t remember. Little by little her memories of Shaun and the pain of it all dissipated. Her dual nature no longer grieved her. Rather than living out Edun’s thoughts and memories, she felt as if she were a passerby looking through a window on occasion. They did not touch her, could not reach her, any longer. There was no doubt as to who she was or what she wanted. In those early days, she had felt as though thick, heavy chains bound her. Nothing bound her now.

  
She knew Atlas. Though he could not bring himself to embrace his human side for anyone other than herself and Sunshine, he too felt the pull. The call to return home. She was proud of him. It was not often he was willing to risk himself for the good of others, and though his primary concern was for the other synths and his former Courser companions, she knew a portion of that concern was for humans he deemed worthy. It was a step in the right direction. If she had asked him to go, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. Because she asked it of him. She had to be careful with that sort of power. She had to ensure the things he wanted were his to desire, and not borne of his dedication to her. When _he_ asked, she felt relief. It was his choice, free and clear. Her thoughts had returned to the Commonwealth more often than not over the last couple weeks. They would do this together, just as they did all things.


	7. The Inevitable Knock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle against unreasonable carroting continues...
> 
> \-------------------------

A flurry of snow followed Preston as he burst into the mess hall, his eyes searching the room before landing on Edun. She looked up innocently from flinging sliced carrots at Dogmeat with her spoon, brow immediately furrowing as she saw the expression on his face.

“You better eat those, or Cookie will be very angry with you,” Edun threatened the dog, rising from her chair. Cookie, also known as Charles Bradley, was the designated head cook at the Castle. Such a position had proven necessary with the sheer numbers the Minutemen sported now. Cookie was an enormous man with a jolly belly and red face. Dogmeat  _ adored  _ him, and Edun wasn’t entirely convinced it was due to the man’s personality alone. Cookie had clumsy fingers, much as Edun did, and crumbs and tidbits had a tendency to rain down around his feet while he was at work. As much as Edun also loved Cookie, she sometimes considered demanding he be drawn and quartered for putting carrots in the stew.

Preston waited for her by the door as she wove her way through the tables and chattering Minutemen. With January bringing a rather unpleasant and merciless blizzard with it in the first week, few were motivated to go outside on their usual patrols. The weather didn’t stop the Brotherhood, unfortunately. They seemed rather cozy in all that power armor, and if the Brotherhood was out and about, so must the Minutemen be. The tension had been climbing for months. They had barely managed to stay ahead of the Brotherhood’s attempts to locate and eliminate all Institute survivors, whether human or otherwise. They had been forced to take Dr Amari underground, relocating her to a secure location and providing the tools she needed to continue her work. Despite over a year passing since the mass exodus from the Institute, there were still synths waiting in safehouses hoping for new identities. Some, who had chosen to keep their minds, were growing panicked under the scrutiny of the Brotherhood and were now choosing to have their memories wiped. Edun hated that they were being forced to take such measures.

They had discussed the possibility of a war with the Brotherhood. She was hesitant. For one, she knew how things had worked out for the Enclave in the Capital Waste. They had been far better equipped than her Minutemen were, and somehow still fell to the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood had the numbers, the equipment, and the tech to cause some serious damage. More than her fear of losing, she was unwilling to ask Preston or the men and women of the Minutemen to sacrifice themselves in what would surely be a long and bloody fracas. It was dangerous enough at times, going up against raiders and super mutants. Each time they lost someone, the flag was lowered to half mast. Some days, it was at half mast nearly constantly. The practical choice had been to resort to underground dealings, teaming up with the Railroad to sort and distribute the survivors. Many of the settlements Edun had helped in the early days were more than willing to take in displaced synths. 

The peace was tenuous, but somehow still held. Troubling rumors had been circulating for some time of the Brotherhood developing a way to detect synths, but so far there had been no sign of such a thing. Edun had a feeling it wouldn’t be long until there were results. They had a team of Institute scientists hostage down there, and Madison Li was one of them. Edun had nobody to blame but herself. She had gone after the Institute, lost herself in overconfidence, and cost the Minutemen their advantage. It had taken the Brotherhood to save her, and as a result she had given an army of zealots all the ammunition they needed to wage a war against the synths she wanted desperately to protect. 

“Hey, good lookin’,” she greeted Preston, placing a kiss on his cold cheek. “You’re freezing. How about I warm you up?”

“Can we talk?” He asked, eyes darting about the crowded mess hall.

“Or that,” she agreed amiably, taking his hand. The leather of his glove was cold and wet, and she flinched at the invasion of her warmth. They walked through the halls of the Castle, passing bunk rooms and the medical center overseen by Curie. Curie had arguably been the greatest treasure Edun had ever discovered, hidden away in Vault 81. She was hard at work, staring at something under a microscope as they passed the doorway. Edun decided to leave the woman be. Preston’s dark expression demanded her immediate attention. He entered their bedroom first, and Edun closed the door behind her. She saw Preston’s eyes move to the crib in the corner of their room, questioning.

“He’s with auntie Haylen,” Edun explained. “She took him to the library with her, insisting he would understand half of what she was reading. I don’t think he’s quite there yet, but...I was enjoying the break.”

He let out a long sigh of relief and leaned against the footboard of their bed. He had been gone for a week, traipsing across the frozen Commonwealth to check in with various outposts. She had been hoping for a warmer reception, but the line of his mouth kept her selfish complaint at bay.

“I received some distressing news last night” he said at last. “Brotherhood soldiers investigated Taffington Boathouse yesterday morning. They found the cellar. Took everyone inside.”

“How many?” Edun asked, throat suddenly tight.

“Four,” Preston sighed. “They dragged them out, held the rest of the residents at bay on threat of death, and loaded them into a vertibird. According to our network of watchers, the vertibird took them to the airport.”

Edun let out an explosive breath. For some time, they had suspected the Brotherhood was using the airport as a detention facility for suspected synths. There had been no hard proof, not until now.

“There’s more,” Preston went on. “None of the four have memory implants. They were all waiting for an evac with the Railroad. They know what they are, where they come from. It won’t be hard for the Brotherhood to figure it out, and once they do…”

“They’ll kill them,” Edun finished for him.  _ Damn it.  _ They’d been running on borrowed time for too long. Until now, they had been relatively successful in fending off the Brotherhood’s efforts to locate synths. Now they had  _ four _ of them. Not just farmers with poor memories, but actual synths with nothing to protect them from interrogation.

“I don’t know how long they have, but… it won’t take them long to sort it all out,” Preston said. “We have to make a decision now. If we don’t act, those four are doomed.”

Edun tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Rather than an all-out confrontation, what if we go about this more...stealthily? If we succeed, they’ll assume it’s the Railroad and won’t have a solid reason to crisp us with their huge robot.”

“If you are suggesting what I think you are, the answer is absolutely not,” Preston protested, his mellow voice raised. “I am not about to risk you by sending you into an airport full of Brotherhood soldiers.”

“Who else are we going to send?” She demanded. “Dogmeat? Because I’ve got to tell you, he’s terrible at stealth. Knocks everything over with his tail.”

“Don’t make light of this, Edun,” he pleaded. “For once, listen to me. If you go in there alone, you’ll be killed.”

“If we send in a group, they’ll be killed. This isn’t the kind of op where strength in numbers is the best approach. Baby, I hear you, but I’m probably the only person in the Commonwealth the Brotherhood won’t immediately mow down on sight.”

Preston made an angry sound in his throat. “You are banking far too much on the remnants of respect Maxson might have for you.”

Edun shrugged. “He’ll at least give me a chance to talk before he shoots me. It’s more than I can say for anyone else.”

“Edun, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings here, but you’ve got a really shitty track record when it comes to blazing into things you can’t handle alone.” 

She felt her jaw tighten. She knew exactly what he was driving at. Eggs. Trinity Tower. The Institute. He might have tried to cushion the blow, but that didn’t make his words sting any less. She had enough guilt on her shoulders about the Institute, and knowing it was fresh on his mind hurt.

“I won’t let those synths die,” she insisted stubbornly. 

“What about my wife? The mother of my child? What if she dies?” His voice wavered, and she could see how desperate he was to keep her here. This had been her greatest fear when she realized she was with child. It would change everything. He would stop seeing her as someone who could handle herself. He would worry for her more than ever. It made her feel weak and useless. The most infuriating thing was how right he was. If she died, it wasn’t just her anymore. She had Preston and Elias to think about.

“What if I took someone with me? Like Deacon? He’s a sneaky little fucker,” she volunteered.

Preston chewed on the thought for a moment. “Perhaps. Send word, explain the situation. If they are willing to help, then I will feel  _ marginally _ less concerned.”

She offered him a small smile. “Now that we have a small sense of resolution… How about a kiss from the popsicle shaped like my husband?” 

The tension dissipated from the room, and Preston chuckled, straightening himself and opening his arms to her. She went to him, letting his arms enfold her and forgetting about the fact that his duster was still cold and stiff against her. She had missed him. Despite operations keeping them continuously busy, she always felt like a part of herself was absent until they reunited again. While Preston coordinated troop movements and defense of towns and settlements, Edun often struck out with the Railroad on escort missions. With the Brotherhood’s grip tightening, however, those had slowed to a trickle. It had required all sorts of creativity to move people recently. Deacon was full of ideas. Dressing people up as traders and borrowing Brahmin to sell the image, or hiding them beneath wagons. His dream of making people snorkel up the river had been dashed by winter and a thick sheet of ice forming over the water. More than anything, they needed a better safehouse. Somewhere they could store more than a few people at a time. Somewhere the Brotherhood wouldn’t look.

She made good on her promise to warm Preston up again, and for once they were not disturbed by a knock on the door or a fussy baby or someone accidentally setting off a grenade on the training grounds. It was a much needed respite, and with each uninterrupted kiss, Edun promised herself she would make it rain caps on Haylen. She had been afraid the baby would change things between the two of them, but it hadn’t. Preston might have become more protective of her, but that was the only thing that changed. He still kissed her like she was the only woman in the world, still held her as though he might never let her go. She understood his protectiveness. She really did. She couldn’t imagine a life without Preston, and that fear was an undercurrent in everything she did to stay one step ahead of the Brotherhood. Maxson might not be prepared to commit mass murder against human beings, but she wouldn’t put it past him. If it came to that, Preston, General of the Minutemen, would be public enemy number one. Right next to Edun.

The inevitable knock came when they were both pulling their pants and boots back on. Edun sighed. At least their visitor had the courtesy to wait until the two of them had finished. She rose, one boot on and the other still in her hand, and opened the door. Danse stood there. He was twice as bulky as normal, clad in a thick coat and trapper hat. He took one look at Edun’s lone bare foot and the boot still in her hand and smirked.

“I see you found Preston.”

Edun rolled her eyes. “I see you found  _ us. _ What do you want, you interrupting cow?”

Danse raised an eyebrow. “What’s an interrupt--”

“Moo!” Edun yelled, surprising the big man. He let out an exasperated sigh. 

“When you are done making jokes, there is something you need to see. Both of you. Immediately. As in, as fast as you can put your boot on.”

Edun shrugged and began to hop on one foot, trying to wiggle the boot on. It had been easier to slide  _ off.  _ “If one of your recruits stuffed a mortar with something that came from the ass-end of a Brahmin again, Danse, I swear I’ll have Preston demote you.”

“That was an isolated incident,” Danse replied coolly. Preston finished pulling his duster and hat back on, and approached the door.

“Should we be worried? I’ve had my fill of bad news today, Danse.”

Danse shook his head. “Not worried. Just… surprising.” Edun finished her argument with the boot, grabbed her coat, and the two of them followed Danse out into the biting wind and snow flurries swirling through the courtyard. Two figures stood within the arch of the gate, and Edun squinted against the storm at them. They were impossible to identify with their heavy coats and hats. One of them held something. A child, from the looks of it. Refugees, then? Humans who had escaped the Institute? She wasn’t sure why this warranted a management parade, but she supposed Danse knew something she didn’t.

As soon as she was close enough to see through the snowflakes clinging to her lashes, she stopped in her tracks. Two sets of eyes stared out at her from above scarves pulled tight over noses and mouths. One pair dark like the deepest parts of the ocean, the other pair an exact mirror of her own.  _ Atlas and Arden.  _ Edun let out a cry, bolting the remaining distance between them, throwing her arms about her long lost friends. She was rewarded with the spine-crushing pressure of a double Courser hug, along with a child’s high and sweet giggle. Edun focused on the sound. Enormous brown eyes stared out at her from a bundle of jackets and scarves. The poor kid was wrapped up more thoroughly than one of Danse’s terrible Christmas presents. Preston, somewhat more reserved than Edun, clasped each of their hands in turn with a warm smile.

“What are you  _ doing  _ here?” Edun asked, pulling her attention away from the child. That was a whole ‘nother interrogation she would be conducting in a moment. “I didn’t think I would ever see either of you again.”

“Edun,” Atlas said, his voice muffled by the face covering, “While we are immune to radiation and disease, we are  _ not  _ immune to the cold. Arden and Sunshine are half-frozen after walking in this blizzard for hours.”

Edun smacked her forehead dramatically. “Of course! I’m so sorry! Follow me. Are you hungry? Cookie made stew, and if you don’t mind carrots, it’s not half bad.”

“ _ Blegh _ ,” Arden replied, hitching the child higher on her hip. “I can pick them out. Atlas will eat them.”

“Men are such uncivilized animals, am I right?” Edun said pleasantly, pinching Preston’s derriere through his coat. He rolled his eyes and led the way back to the mess hall. 

There was a chorus of recognition from some of the men and women within the mess hall as Atlas and Arden removed their hats and scarves. Handshakes and greetings were exchanged, and then they settled in at one of the long tables. Preston went to retrieve bowls of stew for their wayward Coursers, and Edun watched in fascination as Arden slowly unwrapped the child she had been carrying. Buried under the layers of clothing was a toddler. She was beautiful. Her hair stood out in a wild array of fluffy curls, and her enormous brown eyes were shot through with bits of amber. They reminded Edun of tiger’s eye stones. Her face was pink from the cold, and Edun watched in utter fascination as Arden kissed each cheek repeatedly until the child giggled and tried to push her away. The woman who had left the Commonwealth nearly a year ago was much changed. She seemed freer. She seemed happy. A second surprise came when Atlas encircled Arden’s waist with a protective arm, pulling her and the child closer to him. Now  _ that  _ was a very interesting development. Atlas noticed her staring, and offered a small smile.

“You have missed much.”

Edun let out a snort. “Clearly. When did this… ah… happen, exactly?” 

Arden smiled in a misty sort of manner, looking at Atlas with clear adoration. “Somewhere along the road. One day it just… changed.”

“I know how that goes,” Edun mirrored the smile, remembering a time in her life where she and someone who was a friend also experienced a shift like that. It had started with a kiss, a fleeting thing, and grown into so much more. “How does the kiddo factor in? I don’t mean to be insensitive, but… she’s a little too old to have happened between the two of you, and then there’s the matter of… well, I didn’t think synths could, you  _ know _ .” She made a vague gesture at her undercarriage.

“There was… an accident with her mother. We couldn’t leave her there all alone, so we took her with us,” Arden explained. “I guess we weren’t as oblivious to her charm as we thought we would be.”

Edun beamed at them both. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. Dogmeat has been insufferable company. All he wants to do is talk about philosophy. That said, as joyous as this occasion is… Why did you return? Did you miss me, or is there more at play here?”

Before they could answer, Preston returned with two steaming bowls of Cookie’s finest stew. He set them down before Atlas and Arden, and the two took them gratefully. If nothing else, the carroty swill was hot. They were still thawing after that maelstrom outside.

“We heard a bit of news a couple months back,” Atlas explained, encircling the bowl with his large hands. “A trader told us there might be trouble brewing with the Brotherhood. She spoke of interrogations, raids, and the possibility of a device that could expose synths. We decided to return home. We had strayed far and long enough. Our place is here, to help however we can.”

“That, and more,” Arden interjected. “We realized… there was little point to our journey, if it couldn’t be shared with people we loved. Like you and Preston.”

“You sweet jackass,” Edun said, reaching across the table and giving Arden’s hand a squeeze. “We love you both, too. But you have a baby. I can’t ask you to risk yourselves. The Brotherhood is my responsibility. I made this.”

Preston cleared his throat violently, and gave Edun a pointed look. She shrank a little under it, realizing the hypocrisy in her words. Sensing something, Arden looked back and forth between them.

“What? What is it?”

Edun sighed. “Finish your stew, and I’ll show you. It’s easier to explain that way.”

Atlas filled them in on the things they had seen on their long sojourn, while Arden carefully placed every piece of carrot in his bowl and then shared the rest of her meal with Sunshine. When he got to the part about vault 119, Edun’s mouth tightened into a thin, angry line. Was there no end to the number of vaults created and the atrocities committed within them? She wasn’t sure she agreed with the sealing of the vault, but she could understand their reasoning there. Make the people survive the hard way. The honest way. He explained, in terms carefully indecipherable to a toddler, how they had found Sunshine.

“I was hesitant at first,” he confessed, looking ashamed of himself. “All I saw when I looked at her was a human. No different than the people who ran the Institute. I looked at a baby and… I pressed the weight of humanity’s crimes on her. An infant.”

Arden rubbed his back comfortingly. “But you didn’t, and we are here, together.” She gave Edun a funny look. “We have both… changed. Grown. I don’t know how else to say it. We are not the people we once were.”

“I’d love you even if you were exactly the same,” Edun assured her. “Now, if you’re done with that food, it’s time to show you what’s changed around here.”

Preston scooped up the empty bowls and returned them to the kitchen before the four of them walked out of the kitchen. Edun led them through the halls to the library, filling them in on tidbits about the Castle. The new defenses, the extended training yard, the expansion on the barracks.

“As big as this place was, it just wasn’t enough to keep up with the influx of recruits,” she explained, stopping before the library. She opened the door and stepped inside. Haylen was curled up in the large tattered armchair, reading aloud in an animated voice. Dogmeat was flattened out at her feet, half-asleep. He lifted his head when Edun entered. For tonight’s reading, Haylen had selected a book on field triage techniques. The way Elias stared at her, utterly enchanted, one would think it was an idiotic See Spot Run book. Atlas and Arden stepped into the room behind her, Preston behind them. Edun hid her smile, waiting for the two of them to put the pieces together. When Haylen heard the group enter, she stopped reading and looked up. When she saw  _ who  _ had entered, she let out a high pitched yell and clambered out of the chair. Dogmeat trotted over, immediately setting to sniffing boots. Elias let out a startled cry at the sudden surprise and movement, but reverted to his happy self when he saw Edun and Preston’s faces.

Atlas and Arden took a long look at the baby. He was the spitting image of his father for the most part. His skin was a little lighter, but his headful of dark curls were Preston’s. He had Preston’s nose and lips, but Edun’s eyes. He held his arms out to Edun, and she took him from Haylen’s arms. Freed of the baby, Haylen threw her arms about first Arden and then Atlas.

“Wow, it’s been so long! What a surprise! Does Danse know you’re back? Did you see him? I hope you didn’t travel in that blizzard, it’s been going on for days! Did you get a bite to eat?” Her questions rapid-fired from her, and Atlas looked a little dazed as he all but lifted her and set her aside after the embrace. His people skills were tepid at best, and Haylen’s warmth was overwhelming him.

“Haylen,” Edun interrupted, “You’re going to give him a headache. Why don’t you go find Danse and ask him if there’s a room we can fit two people and a small child into?”

“Right! Of course!” Haylen said brightly. “I’ll see you two later. We have so much to catch up on!” She darted out of the library. The fastest way to redirect Haylen was to give her a reason to talk to Danse.

“Thank you,” Atlas breathed. “As humans go, she is particularly taxing.”

“Edun,” Arden stared at the baby. “Is this…”

“Yes,” Edun answered with a soft smile. “This is Elias Garvey. Our son.”

“You  _ knew _ ,” Arden’s voice was accusatory. “You knew, didn’t you? The day we left. There was something you wanted to tell me, and I could see you were holding back. But this… Edun, how could you keep this from us?”

“If she told you, you wouldn’t have left,” Preston answered softly, seeing Edun’s pained expression. He stepped closer to her, placing a hand on Elias’ head and kissing his son on the forehead. “She wanted you to be happy, above all else. She knew the only way that would happen is if you went out and did something for yourselves.”

“Thank you, Preston, but I’m standing right here,” Edun teased, looking up at him and feeling a little lightheaded. His voice had been laden with pride, as it usually was when he spoke of her. She turned back to Arden. “Besides, look at all you have gained. If you had stayed, you might not have grown so close. And you would never have ended up on that mountain top and met Sunshine.”

“‘ _ Wherever the current takes you, that’s where you’re meant to be,’”  _ Arden quoted. Edun raised her eyebrows, surprised.

“You remembered that? After all this time?”

“It’s the closest I’ve ever come to adopting a creed,” Arden said with a wink.

“Now that we are here, we want to help,” Atlas interjected, ever the businesslike one. “Tell us what we can do.”

Edun shared a glance with Preston, and he gave her a small nod.

“Right,” she said, bouncing Elias. “I’m actually really, really glad you’re here. I need to sneak into a complex full of Brotherhood soldiers, directly under the Prydwen’s nose, and bust out four synths. Who’s with me?”

“Is that  _ all? _ ” Arden snorted, then burst out laughing. “Edun, coming up with absurd and impossible plans and inserting herself into the thick of it. Damn. It’s like we never left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing. I hate the various endings. I hate that no matter who you side with, one faction has to die (unless mods intervene). The Brotherhood gives you the mission to kill the Railroad. The Railroad gives you the mission to kill the Brotherhood. Even the Minutemen have their hand forced and blow up the Prydwen.
> 
> I just... don't buy it. Edun would pull out all stops before she stooped to mass murder or actual war. there are a lot of really good people in the Brotherhood, and I can't bear the idea of bombing the Prydwen with everyone inside. It's just wrong. I don't buy that the Brotherhood would murder humans in order to wrangle a handful of synths, either. Maxson cares about his people, too, and respects human life even if he doesn't respect anything else.
> 
> So, this story is a tale of two factions circling each other, reluctant to destroy something so precious as human life. It's more of a cold war than anything, though it does get a bit heated. (punny) Anyway, I'll stop babbling. This is my vision for events unfolding, and it is only maybe 10% canon. Ta da.


	8. The Price of Hubris

“Let me make sure I’m understanding all this,” Arden leaned forward, looking at the rough sketches Edun had drawn up. “You’re  _ pretty _ sure the synths are being kept here, but you don’t know for sure? Are you  _ trying _ to get power-stomped by an overgrown meathead seeking to save humanity?”

Edun sighed. “I’m telling you, I’ve been down there. It would be the perfect place to set up an underground facility, far away from prying eyes. It used to be full of ghouls, but I cleared them all out a long time ago. There was a guy keeping ghouls as pets down there, it was a whole thing. Point is, if I were a megalomaniac in a leather coat, I’d keep synth prisoners there. It’s perfect.”

“Well, ordinarily I’d say we barge in through the front door shooting, but you’re obsessed with doing this while avoiding bloodshed. So what’s the plan? You can’t exactly shoot a soldier in full power armor with a sleep dart.” Arden folded her arms over her chest and leaned back, waiting.

Edun grinned. “That’s actually exactly what I want to do. We’re going to walk through the front door.”

Arden blinked. “Come again?”

“We have suits of Brotherhood power armor,” Preston explained. “Whenever we find one out in the field, emptied or… the occupant dead, our men are instructed to immediately commandeer it. We’ve been doing it for a while. We’ve built a surprising stash of them, right under Maxson’s nose. Usually those things will survive even a vertibird crash, and you know how much the Brotherhood loves to crash vertibirds.”

Arden snorted. “Boy, do I. They couldn’t fly in a straight line if their Elder’s life depended on it. So that’s it? We suit up and pretend to be Brotherhood? There’s just one problem with that, sis.”

“What’s that?” Edun asked, leaning back in her chair.

“You’re not a Brotherhood soldier, and you have a terrible mouth on you. There is no way you’ll pass, not with those stiff types.”

It was Edun’s turn to snort. “First of all, fuck you, I am an  _ incredible _ actor. Second of all… I thought of that. That’s why you, myself,  _ and  _ Danse are going. He’s going to be the one impersonating an officer.”

Arden remained skeptical. “Edun, there is  _ no way  _ they won’t smell a rat when three people in power armor appear and  _ just want to look around _ .”

Edun’s face was smug and she knew it. “ _ Two  _ of you will be in power armor. I will be in stealth, right behind the two of you. While you’re playing stiff and proper, I’ll be nosing around the facility until I find where the synths are being kept.”

“And why do you get to be the one sneaking around in stealth?” Arden demanded. 

“One, because I am the one who still has a keycard to gain access to restricted areas and that makes me the boss. Two, because I’ve been there before. I know the facility better than you do. It makes the most sense. I’ll be quicker because I won’t be guessing at where I’m going.”

“I will not merely sit by while you drag Arden into danger,” Atlas interrupted. “I’m going, too.”

“You will,” Edun agreed. “But not in the capacity you think. You get to be in charge of the distraction. I want you to stir up some shit just outside of the airport. Nothing too dangerous. No casualties. You poke the bee’s nest and then you run. I want them distracted and thinking about anything but the synths in their dungeon.”

“This is a lot of risk you are taking to rescue four synths,” Atlas cautioned her. “Is it worth kicking off a war?”

Edun’s eyes hardened. “ _ One  _ of them would be worth it. This is only the beginning of many more. We have tried reasoning with the Brotherhood, but the situation has only escalated. Ideally, we do this quick and quiet and they assume the Railroad is to blame. Wouldn’t be the first time the Railroad has thrown a wrench in their works. I have spoken with Desdemona. She is perfectly happy to be the scapegoat for this. She’s just bummed she can’t do it herself.”

“Aren’t we forgetting about a really big issue here?” Arden asked. “And by big, I mean huge. As in… a forty foot tall robot loaded up with Mark 28s?”

“We have an idea about that, too,” Edun said. “That’s actually been in the works for some time, since long before all this. You see, after the Brotherhood took over the Institute, we figured it was only a matter of time before they got all hot and bothered at the idea of tracking down and murdering every synth we had just freed. Thanks to Sturges and the holotape of information, we know what the Institute’s one weakness is. Coincidentally, Liberty Prime shares that weakness.”

“Don’t leave me hanging with a dramatic pause,” Arden complained. “This isn’t girl scout camp and ghost stories. Come on, what is it?”

“The Institute has never had to worry about a real threat,” Edun continued. “They were the biggest fish in the pond for decades. They were comfortable, grew complacent. And in that complacence, they forgot to build safeguards against EMPs. See, during the war, corporations were obsessed with the potential of an EMP attack. They were prepared for the worst. Ironically, that didn’t do fuck-all against atom bombs dropping out of the sky like hail stones. With nothing to prepare for or guard against, the Institute spent all their free time playing god and making people in a lab. As a result, they are entirely unprotected against a high-level electromagnetic pulse. That’s the price of hubris. Liberty Prime shares that flaw. We zap him, he’s fried. If they  _ can _ rebuild him, it will take an insurmountable amount of time and resources. As for the Institute… Sturges has developed a device that, once deployed, will wipe out every electrical component in a five mile radius. We will effectively destroy the technology that gives them any advantage here, power armor aside.”

“How are you going to  _ reach  _ the Institute in order to utilize this EMP?” Atlas pressed. “The only way in is the teleporter, and you can be certain they keep a close eye on who comes and goes.”

“I have a little bird on the inside who wants to help us,” Edun replied. “Madison Li is… deeply regretful of the current situation. She approached me a month or so ago. Scared the hell out of us. Appeared in our bedroom in the dead of night, all blue-white light in the middle of… well, never mind. The point is, she can get us in. She makes contact on certain days at certain hours. She will be helping us coordinate the next step.”

“Jesus christ,” Arden breathed. “You’ve damn near thought of everything.” 

“Thinking is one thing.  _ Doing _ is another. You can be assured that the only reason the two of you aren’t in a detention facility at the airport right now is because you were under the cover of a blizzard. The Brotherhood is  _ everywhere _ . Right now, the only safe place is the Castle. They won’t come near us, as part of the unofficial truce. Not to mention we have mortars,” her mouth stretched into a wicked smile at that, “And fancy robot or not, those fuckers leave a mark on anything they hit. Anyway, the point is, they’re not a handful of soldiers trying to survive out on the Commonwealth anymore. They’re not just a blimp full of hotheads and that bitch Quinlan. They’re a serious force to be reckoned with. We have to handle this very carefully, or we will very likely end up dead. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake here.”

“If we pull this off,” Arden mused, “What will you do if other chapters of the Brotherhood respond? What if more of them come here?”

Edun ground her teeth. “We will be more than ready, if it comes to that. This is  _ our  _ home, damn it. They don’t get to waltz in and spread fear and xenophobia. I won’t have it. This is not the world our children will grow up in.”

Arden let out a long breath. “Well, I guess we’d all better get some sleep. It sounds like we have quite the day ahead of us.”

“It really is good to have the two of you back,” Edun sighed. “This is actually starting to feel like something we can accomplish.”

“That’s me, always rolling in just in time for the glory,” Arden said, standing and kissing Edun on top of her head. “Goodnight, you madwoman.”

After they left, Preston escorting them back to their quarters, silence returned to the command room. Edun drummed her fingers on the long oak table, deep in thought. She had left out some of the smaller details. Unimportant things, like the fact she would be leaving the Brotherhood in absolute darkness with no way of leaving the Institute. She had a feeling they would eventually break down the barricades built in the maintenance tunnels and leave that way, but… It would only be a matter of time before they emerged, madder than a hive of hornets and ready to fight in earnest. Then there was the matter of the EMP intended to wipe out Liberty Prime. It was a much smaller, more compact device. It had been necessary, designed around Liberty Prime’s near-constant presence at the airport. She didn’t want the Prydwen to fall out of the sky and potentially cause mass casualties, even  _ if  _ Quinlan was aboard. There were good people aboard it, and more specifically… Children. 

The EMP designed for Liberty Prime would only knock out the robot. It was a sticky design, magnetized and made to physically attach to his frame before remote activation. There would be a small field generated, perhaps a quarter mile, surrounding him. That meant getting close, not getting fried by lasers or nuked by Mark 28s, and attaching it. It was a relatively small device, about the side of a five gallon bucket. More recently, Liberty Prime had been patrolling the Commonwealth on specific routes, seeking out super mutants and other dangers. Approaching the robot via stealth was a no-go. He could detect heat signatures. Their best bet would likely be someone attempting to approach as a friendly; in other words, dolled up like one of Maxson’s darlings and hoping Prime didn’t notice the EMP device cradled in their arms. She didn’t like gambling on unknowns, but there was little other choice. They would have to strike swiftly once they had rescued the synths. After that, wheels would be in motion that could not be stopped. It was late, and she was far too tired to continue hashing and re-hashing the plan in her head. She needed to heed her own advice and let the current flow.

Preston was waiting for her in their room. He was standing by the crib, watching Elias sleep. Edun joined him, snuggling into his side. His arm came around her, squeezing her tight. Neither of them needed to say anything. Whatever danger lay ahead, the risk was worth the reward. Their son would grow up in a Commonwealth free of tyranny.

-

Edun, ever the morning person, staggered into the mess hall with her hair looking as though it had lost a fight with an eggbeater. Yawning, she poured herself a cup of tea under the disapproving eye of Cookie. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“I know, I missed breakfast. I’m sorry. I’m sure it was delightful.”

Cookie’s answer was a disgruntled sound, and Edun turned away to find a table. Danse, Preston, Atlas and Arden sat at a long table, staring at her with varying degrees of amusement. Edun self-consciously patted at her hair. Damn, she knew she should have grabbed Preston’s hat before she left their room. She joined them, straddling the bench and bumping her head against Preston’s shoulder in greeting.

“Now that her ladyship has joined us, we can get started,” Danse said in a castigating tone. “We are short on time.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Edun grumbled, simultaneously burning her mouth on the tea.

He finished glaring at her and began to lay out the plan. “The Railroad was kind enough to arrange for our ‘in.’ According to their intel, there is a small squad assigned to South Boston. They watch everything coming and going near the Castle, and occasionally return to the airport to resupply and rest. Otherwise, they maintain radio silence for the most part, for fear of our people eavesdropping. The squad consists of Paladin Roberts, Knight Willis, and Scribe Jimenez. Since Edun can’t pass for a tall latin male, if anyone asks, our cover story will be that Scribe Jimenez was lost in a conflict with super mutants. I will pose as Paladin Roberts, Arden will post as Knight Willis, and so long as we keep our helmets on, it should work. They resupplied only a couple days ago, but if we sell the super mutant story, another supply run so soon won’t be viewed with any real suspicion.”

“What if someone addresses Arden?” Edun asked. 

“I know both Paladin Roberts and Knight Willis well,” Danse assured her. “I will brief her on their files during the walk to the airport. It should be enough to pass a cursory examination, if needed.”

“Won’t they see us leave the Castle?” she pressed. “If they’re watching the Castle, they’ll see us leave in Brotherhood gear.”

Danse shook his head. “Right now you can’t see farther than ten feet in front of you out there. They won’t see a thing.”

“Well then, let’s suit up.” Edun clapped and stood.

“Aren’t you going to eat something?” Preston demanded with an arched brow.

“Honey, I’m about to march into an airport full of trigger happy tin soldiers. If I ate anything right now, I’d throw up.”

He sighed, and they all stood along with Edun. Danse led the way, through the halls and into the extended barracks. The weapons and maintenance room had a row of power armor suits along the far wall. The insignia emblazoned across them was the same that all Brotherhood soldiers boasted. While Danse and Arden clambered into their suits, Edun prepared the best she could. Over her Thinsulate-lined body suit she pulled on a kevlar vest and leg armor. A heavy wool coat, scarf, and hat followed. While Danse and Arden would be nice and cozy within the power armor suits, Arden would be at the mercy of the blizzard and biting wind. The Thinsulate would keep out the worst of it, but it was still no paradise out there. The blizzard was on day three, and showed little sign of relenting. She only hoped the synths they were about to rescue had enough of their winter clothing on to survive the trip back. How absurd it would be to die of hypothermia instead.

She packed light, opting for her silenced .10mm pistol and a long combat knife. She hoped she wouldn’t need to use either. The last thing she wanted to do was kill any of the Brotherhood soldiers. They were only following orders blindly, as they had been conditioned to do. She wondered how many of them truly believed in the diatribe spewed by their leaders. It had taken Danse a long time, but he was finally coming around and letting go of his biases. Once he’d been around Hancock enough, his view of ghouls had changed. He had also slowly come to accept that being a synth wasn’t a terrible thing worthy of a death sentence. She was pretty sure that was largely due to Haylen. She loved him fiercely, and whatever doubts he had about himself seemed to gradually disappear in the face of it. It was difficult to hate yourself, when someone loved you that much.

Preston wrapped her up in a tight hug at the gate, placed a kiss on her cheek, and ordered her to behave herself and not do anything stupid. She didn’t make any promises, and he didn’t expect any. He was used to her shit.

The wind was howling, in the most literal sense. There was a low wail to it as it gusted over the high walls of the Castle. Despite being thoroughly bundled up, Edun shivered. She walked behind the figures of Danse and Arden, allowing the heavy boots of their power armor to carve a path through the deep snow for her. They deliberately dragged their feet, plowing aside as much of the high drifts as they could for her. Commonwealth winters were a brutal affair, especially this close to the water. There was little conversation during the long trek to the airport. The power armor was equipped with a speaker system of sorts, but Edun had to yell into the wind to be heard, so they spared her vocal chords. It wasn’t until they were about a mile out from the airport that she flipped on her stealth field. This close to the structure, they would have scouts and sentries watching the road up. 

At the gate, a windblown scribe shouted down at them, demanding name and rank. Danse and Arden called back their assumed designations, and half a dozen rifles lowered as the gate slowly swung open. Truly, the blizzard had been a blessing. While she was sure Danse and Arden were doing their best to imitate voices summoned from Danse’s memory, the wind covered whatever flaws their act might have. That, and nobody was expected to remove their helmet. This was hardly the heat of summer, where soldiers were chastised for repeatedly taking  _ off  _ their helmets.

Inside the airport compound, patrols were relatively light. Between the storm and feeling secure in their position, the Brotherhood was not concentrating their efforts here. Besides, they had the Institute as a secure home base. Why suffer on the surface, when you could find excuses to hide in the warmth and comfort of the Institute's walls? Edun squinted up at the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of the Prydwen, but it was no good. The eddying snow and heavy fog obscured the enormous airship from view. She wondered if Maxson was up there. By all accounts, he spent most of his time down in the Institute, but occasionally he returned to the Prydwen. Mostly when he wanted a more personal view of the Commonwealth, or had a project he wanted to oversee. He might be an asshole, but she had to give him credit… he left little to chance. It was part of what made him so dangerous.

Edun nearly froze when they walked past Proctor Ingram. The woman was typing something into a terminal, no doubt running through recent logs from Liberty Prime. Edun had to remind herself that nobody could see her, but here was an unsettling quality about the way Proctor Ingram looked at the figures of Danse and Arden as they crossed the airport yard. She looked as though she was suspicious, and  _ that  _ concerned Edun. Ingram was one of the smartest people Maxson had under his command. Together, she and Madison Li had rebuilt Liberty Prime. She hadn’t gotten to where she was in life by missing small details, and Edun told herself the chill up her spine was from the cold and not Ingram’s piercing gaze.

Other than a few curt greetings or nods, Danse and Arden were left relatively alone. When on duty, there was little banter or conversation among Brotherhood soldiers. Especially not when a Paladin was involved. Paladins exemplified all the qualities the Brotherhood held most dear. It was no easy feat to gain such a promotion. Soldiers, like Danse, had to prove themselves with years of service, fierce dedication, and absolute belief in the tenants of the Brotherhood of Steel. Danse had been an exemplary soldier, and his rise through the ranks was hard-earned. Technically, he was still a Paladin. He had been declared dead, rather than having his rank officially stripped before being executed. Edun somehow convinced Maxson to back down and let Danse go. The last time Maxson and Danse had seen each other was shortly after the Brotherhood took over the Institute. Danse had fought alongside the Minutemen, disguised by Edun’s suit of power armor. As far as Brotherhood soldiers were concerned, he had been another Minutemen heavy. Only Maxson knew Danse was within Institute walls, and had tolerated his presence for the sake of Edun.

Time and wallowing in his own bigotry had hardened Maxson’s resolve once more. Edun had thought perhaps he might come around, even renew his bond with Dase. She had hoped their friendship might be enough to sway Maxson into more sympathetic thinking, but when you shouted your twisted beliefs into an echo chamber, there was little incentive to change. He had shut off all contact once their presence in the Institute was solidified, and since then it had been nothing but a fortress of carefully guarded secrets. Minus the occasional tidbits Madison Li sent their way, that is. The Brotherhood was indeed working on a way to detect synths, but it was not as scary or high-tech as the denizens of the Commonwealth feared. According to Madison, they were building body scanners. 

The only difference between a human and a synth was a small polymer component in the brain of each synth. The body scanners were essentially designed to detect the change in density where the components were seated. While the technology would work, there were two issues with it. One, it was still somewhat theoretical. There were too many extenuating factors that resulted in inaccurate analyses. Anyone with a brain tumor, metal plate, or eyebrow ring was coming up as a synth as well. All three were surprisingly common amongst denizens of the wasteland. Secondly, the scanner design was  _ huge _ . For it to work, it had to be large enough to walk through and do a full 3D imaging scan of the subject. It was impractical. For it to be of any use, they would have to install one in each town and screen everyone. For them to be able to do that, they would have to rid themselves of the Minutemen. The delays in technology gave them a window of time. A window in which the Minutemen struck first, and eliminated the threat. There was far more than merely four lives riding on this.  _ Everything _ rode on it.

Two knights in power armor stood guard at the entrance of the airport ruins. They eyed Danse’s power suit and kept their rifles lowered, though they screened him nonetheless.

“Name and rank,” one of them droned in a stiff voice.

“Paladin Roberts of recon squad Hastam.”

“Knight Willis, also recon squad Hastam.”

The guard who spoke turned to look at Arden. “Knight Willis. You ever get that issue with your rifle sorted out?”

“No,” Arden replied in a neutral voice. “Damn thing’s still causing me grief.”

There was a long pause, during which Edun fingered her pistol nervously. Then the guard laughed and stepped aside. “So much for Institute technology being superior, huh? Give me a good old fashioned Brotherhood-issued weapon any day over that crap.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Arden agreed, following Danse through the door and into the ruins. Edun was so close on their heels she could almost smell the bearing grease in the armor’s joints. Blessedly, the guards didn’t notice anything suspicious. The relentless blizzard was saving her ass over and over today. The foyer of the ruins was empty, but in the halls beyond there was movement and voices. The place was no longer abandoned, and judging from the bits of conversation Edun could hear, they were definitely in the right place.  _ This _ was the detention center she had heard so many whispered rumors about.

  
  



	9. Minigun Skills

“We need to take the elevator down,” Edun whispered in a low voice. “That’s where they will be keeping them.”

“I hope you’re right. If we tarry too long here, we’re as good as dead,” Danse whispered back. Edun fished the old keycard from her pocket and handed it to Danse. When he felt the piece of plastic nudge against his gauntlet, his fingers closed around it. A swipe of the card granted elevator access, and the doors shuttered open. Edun stepped in first, backing into the corner. Danse and Arden stood close, ensuring they blocked her view. Stealth technology worked best when the wearer was completely still. The refracted light effect made for an undetectable subject. It was when you moved that there was an issue. Movement made for a shimmer in the air, almost like a heat wave. If you looked closely, you could detect the difference and spy the cloaked movement. This was a big part of the reason Edun’s escort was so important; they provided camouflage to anyone looking in Edun’s direction.

“Atlas should be starting the commotion any minute now,” Arden informed them on the ride down. “We won’t have long. By himself, he’ll only be able to toy with them for a few moments before it gets too hot and he has to evac. He doesn’t have an Institute he can teleport back into if things get rough.”

The elevator came to a halt, and Danse and Arden stepped out with Edun hot on their heels. A knight and a scribe were waiting when they exited, hurrying into the elevator as soon as it was cleared.

“Where are the two of you going? We’ve got contact up on the surface,” the scribe demanded. 

“You are not the only one following orders at the moment,  _ scribe _ ,” Danse said in a hard, formal tone with emphasis on the title. The scribe blanched, nodded with a  _ yes, sir,  _ and closed the door as quickly as possible. Arden chuckled.

“Paladin Roberts sounds like a prick.”

“He is a tough man who demands respect,” Danse replied, as close as he would get to agreeing with the sentiment. Whatever his thoughts on the Brotherhood, she knew his heart was still with them, deep down. Not so much for their rhetoric, but for the sense of purpose and structure he loved so much.

Ahead was a control room, and Edun knew beyond it would be the generator room. The last time Edun was down here, Initiate Clarke had been using the room to hide a large group of feral ghouls. He was convinced they could be saved; that their minds were not indeed gone. The missing supplies Edun had been investigating were, it turned out, being fed to the feral ghouls. Turning him in was not an easy decision, but Edun knew if she didn’t, he would never get the help he needed. It would only be a matter of time before his psychosis got him killed at the hands of the creatures he was trying to protect.

With the shift guards gone, Edun approached the viewing window and peered down into the generator room. As she suspected, the room had been repurposed. A row of cages made from chain link fencing and steel framework ran the length of one wall. Locked in several of them were the four captive synths. Edun flipped off her stealth field.

“Go,” Danse told her, returning the access card. “Get them out. We will stand guard. If anyone comes in, we’ll have a fight on our hands. Be quick.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She rushed to the generator room door and swiped the card. The door beeped, and a light on the control pad turned green. The captives looked up as Edun appeared, and as she approached them she could see the signs of a terrible ordeal upon them. They were stripped of their warm clothing and stood shivering in the cold room. One wore a dress, the others wore grubby jeans and tee shirts. There were hollows under their eyes, bruises and contusions over every bit of visible skin. The Brotherhood had been doing more than asking questions. These people bore all the signs of sleep deprivation and beatings. They shrank back as she approached their cages, eyes wide in fear.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she told them, setting to work on the first lock. “I’m here to get you out of here. We may only have seconds, so just stay quiet and do exactly as I tell you.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trick? Another tactic of the Brotherhood’s?” The woman in the dress demanded. Edun leveled a look at her, pausing for a precious moment.

“Look at my face. Surely you’ve all heard of the General of the Minutemen’s ugly wife? That’s me.” The lock clicked open, and Edun moved on to the next one. She worked quickly, focusing on the task and willing her fingers not to shake. These people were in no shape for a long walk back to the Castle. Time for a plan B. Danse wasn’t going to like it, but they would die out there in the blizzard. When the last lock clicked open, she unslung the pack from her shoulder and retrieved the handful of stealth devices.

“Put these on,” she instructed, handing them out. “Flip that switch. It might make you feel a little funny, but unless you’re wearing them for several hours, you’ll be fine. We’re going to go up those stairs there and follow my two friends in power armor out. If we run into anyone, stand perfectly still and don’t make a sound. Follow their lead. Got it?”

Almost in unison, the four of them nodded. She gave them her best version of a comforting smile and then flipped her stealth field back on. She hoped they could keep it together. If things got stressful and one of them slipped, they’d all have a few extra breathing holes. She watched as one by one the rest of them followed. She turned on her heel and rushed across the room and back up the steps. A pat on Danse’s arm and the key card in his palm again told him they were ready, and he and Arden led the way back to the elevator. He swiped the card, and they stood and waited for the door to open. When the steel doors dinged and slid open, everyone froze. Protector Ingram stood inside the elevator, laser rifle raised and aimed directly at Danse.

“Who are you?” She demanded, her thin mouth pulled into a harsh line and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Paladin Roberts,” Danse replied, his electronic voice sounding completely calm and even, as though he couldn’t understand what would have her so worked up.

“Bullshit,” Ingram shot back, her finger not leaving its position on the trigger.  _ Please, Ingram,  _ Edun thought.  _ Of all the people here, you’re the one I least want to have to hurt.  _ “Paladin Roberts’ armor has a weld patch on the back. I repaired the armor myself. I’ll ask again, who are you?”

Her eyes came to a point beyond Danse and Arden, and Edun followed Ingram’s gaze. Shifting her head minutely, she saw what had attracted the attention. Water droplets were pooling on the ground at her feet. The frost and ice on her heavy coat was melting in the relative warmth of the airport ruins. It was a screaming neon sign to anyone who bothered to look for it. Fuck, shit, damn.

“Ingram,” Danse said gently, dropping the neutral tone and allowing his usual voice to take over. “Think about this for a minute.”

“ _ Danse? _ ” Ingram asked, her voice changing from belligerent to incredulous. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” he acknowledged. “Please. Let us pass. We have taken great care not to harm anyone, and we don’t intend to start.”

Ingram’s eyes shifted towards the control room, realization dawning. “Who’s under stealth back there?”

“Hey, hot stuff. Been a while,” Edun said, switching out of stealth. Ingram was so startled she nearly took a physical step back.

_“Edun?_ You’re a part of this? What’s going on?” Her eyes flicked up and down Edun, as though to assure herself it was really her as well.

“We came for the prisoners,” Edun answered honestly. “That’s all we want.”

“I should report this,” Ingram shifted uncertainly in her frame. “I should call the others down here.”

“Ingram,” Danse's voice was pleading. “You _know_ this is wrong. These people are no different than you. No different than  _ me.  _ You know I’m not some mindless automaton. You  _ know _ me. Trust me in this, and let us help them.”

Ingram’s face twisted with the agony of her decision. “Danse,” she said, her voice breaking. “Christ, man. We thought you were dead. How is this possible?”

“Maxson found me... And then he let me go, thanks to Edun. She talked him into seeing reason, even if only temporarily. He’s known I was alive all this time, and chosen to let it lie. All I am asking of you is that you let it lie as well.”

Tears rose to Ingram’s eyes, and she lowered her rifle. “You have two minutes, Danse, and then I sound the alarm. That’s the best I can do. I’ll say I came down here, searched the room, and found the prisoners gone. Make those minutes count.” 

She stepped out of the elevator, and they parted to let her pass. As they piled into the elevator and Edun flipped her stealth back on, Ingram turned to look back at them.

“Danse, if you were ever to return… Just know, you have been missed. Many of us were furious over what happened. You would have support. Whatever you needed.”

“Thank you, Ingram,” he answered somberly. The elevator doors closed, and the floor beneath them lurched as it began the ascent with _ far _ too much weight in it. When the doors opened again, Danse stepped out first. His head turned in each direction, and seeing no movement, gestured for the others to follow. 

“Danse,” Edun whispered as they neared the exit. “They won’t last ten minutes in the blizzard.”

“We’ve gone a little too far for you to turn back on this plan,” he said in a low, severe voice. “Better they take their chances out there than in here.”

“I have an idea about that,” she replied. “But first, a question. How are you with a minigun?”

“Edun,  _ no,”  _ he hissed. “If you’re thinking what I think you are,  _ no.  _ Absolutely not. They’ll shoot us the second we lift off.”

“By the time they realize who’s flying it, we’ll be out of range. Trust me. I’m bad at a lot of things, but flying a vertibird ain’t one.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, surprising her with a rare curse word. “If you don’t pull this off, you owe me. If we aren’t dead.”

“Okay, sweet pea,” she replied sweetly. 

Danse pushed the exit open, and Edun tensed. One guard had left their position, but the other still remained. Danse moved so swiftly it wasn’t until he had the man’s power core completely yanked out that she realized what he was doing. Without it’s core, the suit was little better than a stone statue. Danse seized the stunned Knight by the arms, turned him, and threw him down in a thick snow bank. With the armor’s back to the ground and packed into snow by the sheer weight of its steel, the man wouldn’t be able to exit his armor without help. Without power, he had no speakers, either. He could be yelling in there, but all anyone would hear was muffled complaints. 

“Thirty seconds,” Arden warned. “We’re beyond chit chat. Time to run.” 

They set off at a run, rounding the curve of the airport terminal and charging towards the empty vertibird. In the distance, Edun could hear explosions. Whatever Atlas was up to, it was loud and fiery. She hoped he got out alright. She had faith in the Courser, but one Courser against the Brotherhood was still poor odds. 

Edun leaped into the vertibird, taking position in the pilot’s seat and flipping all systems online. Dash lights greeted her, and she resisted the urge to pat the machine lovingly in greeting before strapping in. She flipped off her stealth field. There was no point in it, considering she was about to steal an entire vertibird. 

“Hang on to whatever you can back there,” she called over the rotors as they spun up. “We’re not going on a leisurely Sunday cruise. It’s gonna get ugly fast.”

“You’d better not crash this one, jackass,” Arden called as she grabbed hold of a strap. “Everyone in?” 

The synths sounded off one by one, and with role call complete, Edun took the vertibird into the air. Smooth takeoffs and landings were a point of pride among any good pilot, but today was not a day to dwell on such things. Especially not in the midst of a blizzard. She pulled the joystick back and gave the bird as much throttle as she dared. It jerked up and into the sky, rocking in the wind currents, climbing rapidly under Edun’s punishing hand. Below, she could see soldiers beginning to respond to the alarm. A few shots flew past her nose, but Edun banked and the follow-up shots thudded harmlessly into the armor plating. Clear of the buildings, Edun put as much distance between them and the airport as the engines would allow. The storm beat against the craft. No sane pilot would ever attempt to fly in shit like this. The standard for landing alone was a quarter mile of visibility. Edun had ten feet, fifteen max. She used the altitude meter to focus where she was, and punched in the coordinates for the Castle. She needed to get her people home, drop them off, and then find somewhere to hide the bird. It was far too valuable to sacrifice.

Behind her, the synths switched off their stealth fields. She glanced back at them. They clung to the oh-shit straps mounted to the ceiling of the bird, eyes wide and staring out at the billowing storm ahead. Something on her dash lit up red, and Edun cursed and banked to the right. The missile flew past, narrowly missing them. Her passengers let out cries or grunts in response to the effort of staying in the bird. Well, she had been too optimistic in thinking they’d make it through this without a few shots exchanged.

_“_ _ Danse _ ,” she yelled over her shoulder, “It’s time to show us what you’ve got with those minigun skills.”

“I’ve got it,” he called back. “Might help if I could  _ see _ them.”

Her eyes flicked to the radar. “Eight o’clock! Fire!” Danse responded immediately, the minigun spinning up with a loud and furious whine. Bullets sprayed into the raging storm. “Nine o’clock now! They’re running parallel to us! They’re going to try to get a missile directly into the bird!” 

Danse swiveled, the barrels of the minigun glowing hot. A warning flashed on the dash again, and Edun dropped the vertibird into a sudden dive. More grunts and groans and shuffling feet behind her. The missile sailed overhead, missing the tail of the bird by a hair. 

“I see smoke!” Danse bellowed. “I think we hit them!”

Edun looked at the radar again. The blip was falling back. Either the enemy bird was crashing, or they had hit one of the rotors. Either way, they should be in the clear again. For now. They were five minutes out from the Castle. She racked her brain for an idea on where to store the damn vertibird. A thought came to her.  _ Reeb Marina.  _ She had cleared the place out some time back, and now it served mostly as a waystation for Minutemen. It also had an enormous old shed, with a door big enough for the vertibird to fit through.

“Danse” she called, “when we land, I need you to get everyone unloaded and into the Castle immediately. I’ve got to drop the bird somewhere. I’m not giving it up. You never know when one of these things might come in handy.”

“You aren’t going back out into the blizzard alone,” he protested.

“I’m not,” she told him. “Arden is coming with me.”

“Gee, thanks,” Arden’s helmet did nothing to filter sarcasm. “I’ve always wanted to die of frostbite in a blizzard with you.”

“Don’t be a sissypants,” Eden shot back. “There will be beds and heat where we’re going.”

For flying blind, Edun didn’t do a terrible job of landing the bird. She did scare the shit out of the sentry she nearly squashed outside the gate, but otherwise nobody died. Danse ushered the four synths out of the bird immediately, and Edun lifted off again seconds after making the drop. If there was more pursuit coming, she couldn’t incriminate the Minutemen. Not with their big plan in its fledgling stages.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts, you know that?” Arden commented, shifting close enough that she didn’t have to yell quite so loud. 

“Thanks,” Edun replied. “I get it from you.”

-

Getting the vertibird into the shed was a bit like threading a needle while wearing thick gloves and a blindfold, but Edun managed it. She only cracked one of the support beams inside when a rotor hit it. Overall, the vertibird was intact, minus a few bullet holes.

“All I ever wanted in this world was a vertibird of my own,” Edun crooned, wrapping her arms lovingly across the front of it. The metal was freezing cold and coated in ice, but Edun didn’t much care at the moment. It had over two hundred years since she last flew, and despite the missiles being fired in her direction, the experience had been exhilarating.

“You might be the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met,” Arden stated, clomping away in her power armor. She marched it to a corner and pulled the release, stepping out of the suit and returning to Edun. Her hair was matted to her sweaty forehead.

“I see you’ve been nice and toasty in there,” Edun noted disdainfully, releasing her beloved bird and finally remembering she was actually really fucking cold. “Let’s go see what the last people left us.”

In the back room of the large shed was a rudimentary sleeping area. Bedrolls were laid out around an old wood stove. A hopper full of coal stood beside it. There was a small wooden crate filled with assorted canned goods and cans of purified water. No doubt the water was frozen, and the food likely was as well. Nothing a minute on top of the old stove couldn’t fix. On one of the walls, someone had drawn a token railroad sign. Rather than the usual arrow or symbol in the center, someone had substituted a particular part of human anatomy.

“Deacon,” Edun explained when she saw Arden’s mouth twist up in a smile at the sight. “He’s always leaving that shit behind to mess with us.”

She lowered herself to her knees on the cold stone floor and began to pile kindling and coal into the stove. Arden watched silently as Edun sparked the fire and blew on it gently to get it going. 

“How long are we going to sit around here?” Arden asked, arms wrapped about her tightly. 

“Until the storm lets up. If we try to wade our way back to the Castle right now, we’ll end up popsicles.”

“Actually,” Arden replied, “Only you will. I’ll be nice and warm in my power armor.”

“Back in the Commonwealth two days and you’re already leaving me to die in a snowdrift. Such a cruel sister,” Edun chuckled.

Once the fire took hold and began to fill the room with warmth, they pulled the bedrolls closer and sat before it, raising their hands and coaxing feeling back into their stiff fingers. Now that the day’s stress was at a relative end, Edun realized she was absolutely starving. It was nearing three o’clock, and she had now officially missed breakfast  _ and  _ lunch. If Dogmeat were here, he’d melt her with his withering look. She cracked open two cans of beans - one for herself, one for Arden - and placed them atop the stove to heat. There was a certain nostalgia to being here, she realized. How many times had she stayed in places such as this while out on a mission, sharing close quarters with one or a couple of her greatest friends? They weren’t exactly simpler times, not with so much going on and so much to do… but they were sweeter times, before everyone went their separate ways. 

Nobody had left behind eating utensils, unfortunately, so the two women had to wait until the cans were cooled enough to drink from them. It was a messy affair, but food was food.

“I missed this,” Edun said, patting the bottom of the can to get the last few stubborn beans.

“You missed beans?” Arden snorted.

“No, asshole. I missed  _ this _ . You, me, a dilapidated hovel in the middle of nowhere. We had some good times, didn’t we.”

“You have a strange idea of fun,” Arden smiled, pulling her knees to her chest. “But yes. We did have some good times.”

“When you left, it was as though I lost a part of me,” Edun’s voice turned serious. “A piece I didn’t think I’d ever get back.”

“Technically, you did, since I’m made from your DNA.” Arden’s smile widened.

“You’re different. Still you, but… more,” Edun observed.

“Still me? You mean still  _ you _ .”

“I didn’t mean--” Edun began, but Arden held up a hand, stopping her.

“Peace, sister. It wasn’t meant as a negative thing. Only truth. Much of what I am came from you, remember? My sense of humor, my mannerisms, even the way I scratch my head like I’ve got fleas when I’m stumped on something. That’s all you.” She focused on the glowing coals visible through the gap at the bottom of the stove’s door. “There was a time I resented you for it. I knew it wasn’t your fault, that Shaun was the one to blame. But each time you and I said the same thing at the exact same moment, or loved or hated the same things, I resented you a little. I couldn’t help it. I wanted so badly to be something...unique. Something my own. And everywhere I turned, there you were. A near exact mirror of everything I did and said. It was like having someone mimic every word I spoke back to me, rather than carrying on a conversation… you know?”

“I know,” Edun said in a low voice.

“It’s funny, but… over time, I’ve come to understand what Nick must have felt, all these years. You told me about how he doubted himself. Doubted what was real and what had been placed there by the Institute. I wish I’d been closer to him, before. Maybe if I had been, I’d have found the guidance I needed. It would have saved me a long walk.”

“I don’t think so,” Edun shook her head. “You got to where you are now in your own way. I don’t think Nick could have changed it. You had to find the answers yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Arden agreed. “I think… Atlas was a big part of it. In the beginning, he was something to cling to. A life preserver. Then he was... more. He was a reason to keep trying, to care. Whenever things got dark, whenever I was afraid, he was beside me. I don’t think even he knew how much that meant.”

“I imagine he did. You were the same for him.”

“I know that much of me is still parts of you, but… I don’t hate it anymore. I like to think if things were different, and you and I were truly sisters, this is how it would be. That nature would make us this similar, and the way we are isn’t just the result of some lab and a bunch of scientists twisting me into the shape they wanted. You’re the best sister I could have, two hundred years older or not.”

Edun laughed. “Shit, I really  _ am _ the big sister. Good. Time to start respecting your elders.”

“Over my dead body, you hag.”

That night, they slept curled up together. It was just like the old days, Edun snoring softly and Arden hogging the only pillow, the two of them burrowed under a pile of old bedrolls. When morning arrived and the sun came with it, they added a few things to Deacon’s drawing. It wasn’t like he was around to defend his masterpiece.


	10. Follow the Glowing Green Road

Edun didn’t need the figure in the chair to turn around for her to identify who it was.

“Cait, where the hell have you been?” She bellowed, striding across the common area. “You owe me fifty caps!” Minutemen looked up as she passed, worry in their expressions. It wasn’t often Edun raised her voice in such a manner. If she did, it was because Dogmeat had eaten another pair of socks or stolen her breakfast.

Cait was on her feet in a second. She was harder, leaner than she had been the last time Edun saw her. She wore black road leathers and boots with spikes on the toes. They weren’t the sort of thing put there for decorative purposes. Her shaggy red hair was long, pulled up in a tight ponytail. Bangs partly obscured her eyes. She looked beautiful as ever, the flint in her eye undiminished.

“Edun, you lousy bitch, I won ‘em fair and square!” She cried. The women faced each other, their faces masks of fury. Arden hesitated in the door, watching them and looking confused. The last she had seen the two of them, they were famous friends.

Edun cracked first, yanking Cait into a hug with a laugh. “It’s been too long! This damnable winter has put a dent in all our social lives.”

“Don’t you worry, I brought me playin’ cards. Give me an hour, I’ll win back me fifty caps and them some.”

“Cait, I love you, but you’re a rotten poker player,” Edun said with a grin, releasing Cait from the embrace. “What are you _ doing _ here?”

Cait placed her fists on her hips. “That lummox of a man you call husband called me. Said the Bloody Knuckles might be of some help. Said you were goin’ up against the Brotherhood. Surprised me right out of me knickers. Tell me...Is it true? Are you really doin’ this?”

Edun sighed. “I should have known he’d be involved. Long story short… it’s true. We’re doing this. I’m guessing you dragged yourself across the Commonwealth for a reason. I hope it isn’t to talk us out of it.”

“Ha!” Cait barked a laugh. “Not a chance in hell. I’ve been dyin’ for a chance to go up against those big metal bullies. It’s about time.” Her eyes shifted to a point over Edun’s shoulder, an appreciative gleam entering them. “I see the lovely Arden is with you. Heard about her and Atlas. Damn shame. I suppose all me dreams are meant to die in the end.”

“Sorry, sweet cheeks. Maybe next time,” Arden chuckled.

“If you’re here,” Edun interrupted, “Does that mean…”

“RJ? Yeah, he’s with me. Went to the dinin’ hall. By now he’s eaten poor Cookie out of house and home. Might want to check and make sure he hasn’t chewed on the cobblestones, too.”

Edun flashed a grin and gave Cait a peck on the cheek. “I’ll catch up with you later. Poker rematch after dinner?”

“Oh, you’re fookin’ on,” the redhead crowed.

“I’m going to spend some time with Atlas and Sunshine,” Arden told Edun as she passed by. “Come find me if you need me.”

“Of course. Get some rest,” she agreed. The slog back to the Castle had been a rather lengthy one, considering there was three feet of snow over all the roads and the banks were piled even higher. According to Preston, Atlas had fared better. He had made it back to the Castle before nightfall. While Edun and Arden curled up around an old stove for warmth, he had slept in a proper bed inside the Castle, snuggled up with Sunshine. The relief in Arden’s eyes was palpable. Battle-hardened Courser or not, Edun understood the softness in her when it came to her loved ones.

Atlas had run quite an impressive display of interference outside the airport. He lit old cars on fire, threw smoke bombs and fireworks, and even allegedly pantsed a few unsuspecting scribes. The chaos had kept the Brotherhood troops both occupied and confused until they realized a vertibird was being stolen from them. No doubt they would pay dearly for it in the shape of endless push-ups in the snow. All in all, the mission had been a success. No lives were lost; the only casualty was the dignity of the knight who had been disabled and dumped in the snow by Danse. Edun was sure it must have seriously chapped Atlas to leave the soldiers of the Brotherhood unharmed, but it was necessary. She wasn’t ready for the first shot of the revolution to be fired. Not yet.

In the mess hall, RJ sat before three empty bowls of what Cookie had long ago dubbed ‘Cookie’s Surprise.’ That meant it was a whole bunch of leftovers and odds and ends, thrown into a pot and disguised with salt and pepper. It was hot, and filling. During winter months, it was the sort of thing they ate the most. Dogmeat was seated beneath the table, his furry face unabashedly resting on RJ’s thighs. From the way he was licking his chops, RJ was being overly generous.

“Still trying to fatten my dog up?” She teased as she slid onto the bench in front of RJ. It had been a month since she last saw him. She and Preston were in Diamond City on business for Nick, and joined the detective at RJ and Ellie’s place after for dinner. Marriage had done RJ good. He was more filled out than ever, no longer sporting the rangy look he usually had. Ellie kept his hair neatly trimmed, and he finally allowed his beard to come in fully. He looked grown up. Happy. Handsome. 

“Your dog was fat long before I met him,” RJ rolled his eyes. “How’s the little one?”

“He’s doing great. Blessedly, he got his father’s temperament. He mostly just sleeps and coos at me.”

RJ snorted. “Thank god. If he took after you, he’d never shut up.”

“RJ, I’m going to have Cookie poison you if you don’t watch your trap,” Edun warned, eyes sparkling. “So, I know you came here with Cait… but are you  _ with  _ her? On this Brotherhood business?”

“You know I am,” RJ replied, finishing the last bite of bowl three. “I hate those effing d-bags. So does Cait. If you want us to help fight them, we’re in. Free of charge.”

“All the same, you’ll be paid. The Minutemen never leave an open tab.”

“That’s not what Whitechapel Charlie told me,” RJ grinned. “I heard you and Sweet Deeks got so drunk a couple months back you both left without paying the tab.”

Edun groaned. “Damn it, Deacon. I  _ knew _ it. I’ll have to set that right. Before Charlie sends hit men after me.”

“So what’s the plan, here?” RJ asked, folding his hands on the table. “I’m hoping you have one, anyway, and this isn’t one of those things where you pull it out of your butt as you go.”

“You wound me, RJ. I would never,” Edun protested. “We just… have to plant a bomb. On a robot. And not die doing it.”

RJ’s brows pulled into a deep ‘v’. “I  _ know  _ you’re not talking about that giant robot stomping around the Commonwealth at will. Please tell me it’s not  _ that  _ robot.”

“Okay, it’s not that robot.”

“ _ Edun.” _

She sighed, her voice turning serious. “There is no way we can take on the Institute with Liberty Prime on the loose. He’d slaughter everyone in the Castle the moment we stir up trouble, otherwise. My husband and my son will be in danger.”

RJ’s mouth tightened. “Whatever you need me to do, I’m there. I’ll be danged if I’m going to let that hunk of metal come near any of you.”

“Thanks, RJ.” She smiled and covered his hand with one of her own. “It’s good to have you on board. Honestly, I think you and Cait can handle everything. The rest of us will just kick back.”

He looked pleased. “Well, we  _ are  _ the best.”

-

As expected, Brotherhood patrols significantly increased after the synth liberation. Liberty Prime was sent on more frequent patrols of the Commonwealth, his big ugly head seen over lower buildings as he marched through the streets bellowing about _Red Chinese._ Maxson must have been absolutely furious at being bested. Vertibirds passed over the Castle as well, but Edun simply waved up at them innocently. There was no evidence of their involvement, and as far as she could tell, Ingram had kept her silence. Her inadvertent complicity lit an ember of hope in Edun’s chest. She wasn’t sure how far the woman would go to help them in the future, but it was a relief to know there were there still good people within the Brotherhood who had not lost sight of their humanity. The revelation that he had friends within the organization was an emotional blow to Danse. He had been withdrawn and moody since their return. She recognized the look in his eyes, the ache to belong again. She had felt it for some time after realizing her military career was over.

The Railroad had put everyone under strict orders to sit and wait, after moving the riskiest synths from temporary hiding places. The railroad HQ was already packed to the gills, and they were running out of options. There were only so many basements and false walls to hide people in. Edun sat staring at the map before her. There were too many crossed-off safe houses. Even the kind-hearted farming families who had volunteered their settlements for the occasional synth in need were growing nervous. Blake Abernathy had radioed just this morning to voice his concern. 

_ “There are troops everywhere. My family is afraid,”  _ he’d said. “ _ And… As much as we want to help, I have to put them first. We’ve already lost one daughter. I can’t risk losin’ another. You’ve got two days to sort somethin’ out before we have to put them out in the cold. I’m sorry, Edun. I really am.”  _

The net was tightening, but they needed just a little more time. The device for Liberty Prime was ready, but the EMP bomb for the Institute was still in progress. She stared at the map until the lines blurred and she remembered to blink. Something nudged at her memory. She concentrated, willing it forth. Once the thought had fully formed, she let out a yell, racing out of the Castle and into the frigid morning air without her coat. Danse was out in the training yard, educating recruits on compensation for glare while sharpshooting when she approached him, breathless and red-faced.

“Danse! I’ve got it!” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got what, a hangover?”

“No, I’ve got the solution to the Railroad’s problem! Remember that last time we were out in the Glowing Sea, and found that old Federal surveillance post? The one beneath the abandoned shack?”

He frowned, remembering. “Yes, that’s right. What about it?”

“That’s where we need to start smuggling all the synths still in hiding,” she explained. “They’re immune to radiation and can make the journey through all those rads. The Brotherhood never goes out there anymore, now that they’ve retrieved everything from the nuclear stockpile. If we do it in small groups, traveling only at night… it’s possible. It will relieve pressure on all the safehouses and Railroaders, and buy us the time we need for Sturges to finish the EMP device. That place was huge. They’d be more than comfortable down there. Better than a farmer’s root cellar.”

He sighed. “It’s not without danger, Edun. The Glowing Sea is not a forgiving place. They could run into any number of nasty creatures out there.”

“Is torture and death at the hands of the Brotherhood preferable?” She asked gently. “This will be volunteers-only. I won’t ask anyone to make these runs that isn’t willing to. But I think if we do this right… we can save more than a few lives.”

“Let me guess,” Danse said in a tired tone, “You’re one of the ones volunteering.”

“What I’d like to do is arrange a relay system, and that means stationing guides along the set routes to the Glowing Sea.  _ Follow the glowing green road.  _ Like radioactive Dorothy. So, while I would love to walk them all the way to the front step, I can’t. Not without power armor, and power armor draws attention. But I can lead them partway, and that is what I plan to do.”

“I will help,” Danse said. “I’m not going to let you run off and do this alone. Ronnie can take over training in my stead.”

“Excellent. I was hoping you’d say that. If I can get a couple others on board, we’ll be set. I need to talk to them, then radio the Railroad and establish the network.” She patted him on the arm. “You know, as best friends go, you’re pretty much the bestest ever.”

“That isn’t even a word,” he replied, sounding rather pleased with her assertion regardless.

She returned to the Castle, leaving him to wrap up. Time to chat with her favorite Coursers and see if they would be willing to help. She was sure they would be, but she wouldn’t be assumptive enough to volunteer them without asking. Naturally, they both wanted to assist. Atlas wasn’t the type who would piss on a human if they were on fire, but he had shown a fierce dedication to righting the wrongs of the Institute and helping out fellow synths. Edun wasn’t going to be picky. If he was helping, that was good enough. Together, they radioed the Railroad on an emergencies-only channel to propose the idea. Desdemona was hesitant at first, but she too had felt the noose of the Brotherhood tightening. If the synths were going to last until the Brotherhood could be dealt with, they would need a fighting chance. The old Federal surveillance center was that chance.

_ “I will send a couple runners to the Castle. This sort of thing is best planned in person,”  _ Desdemona told Edun.  _ “Consider my people at your disposal in this. Keep me updated and let me know if you run into any trouble.” _

“Des, trouble is inevitable. But we’ll do our best to avoid it,” Edun said. “We’ll watch for your runners.”

Their Railroad guests arrived somewhere around midnight, freezing cold and stomping their feet to get warm before the enormous common area fireplace. Edun recognized Deacon’s bright blue eyes over his face covering immediately.

“Wow, they sent us the big guns,” she commented drily as she watched him peel the layers off. “Didn’t expect you to show up without those damn glasses of yours.”

“The shades fog up when it’s this cold. It’s already hard enough to see through those things in the dark,” Deacon complained. “But they look so  _ cool _ .” His eyes flitted to a glowering Danse who stood close by. The last time Deacon and Danse had been together, it was on a mission. Deacon had decided it would be hilarious to fill the sleeping man’s hand with shaving cream and tickle his nose. It was an old prank, but a good one. Danse had never forgiven Deacon for it. It was part of why he groaned any time Edun so much as mentioned Deacon.

“Edun, I hope you’re keeping that dog of yours on a leash,” Glory said as she removed her hat and her white-blond hair tumbled out of it. She wasn't talking about Dogmeat, and Danse made an angry sound in this throat. Glory had never particularly warmed up to Danse. She didn’t often warm up to anyone, though Edun was pretty sure the beautiful synth had a bit of a crush on Arden.  _ Who doesn’t,  _ Edun reminded herself ruefully.

“Everyone play nice,” she chastised. “Now, I know it’s late… but I want to jump on this as soon as possible. Is everyone okay with staying up a little later so we can hash out the plan?”

“I’m totally not tired,” Deacon informed her, stifling a yawn. “Let’s smuggle some synths!”

Cookie, being the sweetest of souls, appeared with a kettle of hot tea and a bowl of sugar cubes. Everyone let out little sighs of relief and poured mugs of the steaming beverage. There wasn’t coffee to be had in the Commonwealth, but tea came out of South Carolina in fairly regular intervals thanks to Edun’s generous caps stash. It wasn’t coffee, but it would keep them all warm and awake. And right now, that was what they needed.


	11. Rub Some Dirt In It

With the Boston area being the most dangerous, Edun naturally called dibs on that route. She wasn’t going to send anyone she cared about into the thick of Brotherhood patrols, and besides… She and Danse knew the area like the back of their hands by now. For the last year, Danse had led patrols into the city to whittle away at the Super Mutant population until the Brotherhood presence had grown too risky. He was still technically a dead man, and being spotted by his former brothers and sisters in arms could result in disaster. Edun knew him, and she knew he wouldn’t fight to protect himself where they were concerned. Their best bet on this mission would be to lean on stealth tactics, and the big man begrudgingly left his power armor behind. 

They were on their third run in two days, leading synths from Goodneighbor to Hangman’s Alley. Both she and Danse were exhausted. It wasn’t only that they did their best to keep up a grueling pace - it was the constant threat of Brotherhood patrols, even at night. Units patrolled the streets, and at times vertibirds flew over with spotlights. They shot anything that wasn’t human, and anyone who was human was detained and interrogated on the spot. Being detained or interrogated would not go well for them. They utilized the old buildings and rubble to duck and hide, marking their hiding spots with chalk for others to find, should the routes change. On this run, they led two men and one woman along the hazardous route. One of the men couldn’t stop crying. He was one of the more unfortunate ones, forced into hiding after excessive scrutiny was placed on him. The Railroad whisked him away just before the Brotherhood beat his door down. Until recently, he lived as a human along with all the memories of being one. He was afraid. Terrified, in truth. His entire life was upended and now he was facing death for having the misfortune to exist. The others tried to comfort him, but the man kept bursting into fits of whimpers. Danse was losing patience.

“He’s going to get us killed,” he growled angrily to Edun as they waited inside a destroyed bookstore for the vertibird overhead to pass. “If a patrol happens by, he’s going to crack, and bring them down on us.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Edun hissed. “Drug him?” She contemplated her words. “Actually, that’s not a terrible idea. Do you still have some Med-X in your kit?”

“I’m not sure that’s the most sound idea,” Danse’s voice was tight, controlled. “If he reacts to the drug in an unfavorable way, we will have the same issue.” 

Edun sighed and leaned out from behind a bookshelf. The beam of the vertibird’s spotlight had ceased to roam over their area, and moved on towards the direction they had just come from. They couldn’t leave just yet. Often the vertibirds acted as a spotter, and a patrol was close behind. They had been here too long as it was, but there was nothing to be done about it. She rubbed her palms against her thighs. She didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that the muscles in her legs were trembling from the fatigue of continuous crouching or squatting. 

“I  _ can’t _ be a synth,” moaned the distressed man from the back of the bookstore. “I _can’t._ I remember things. I will just explain everything to them. This has to be a misunderstanding.”

Danse clenched his jaw, pulled his pack from his shoulders, and dug around until he located the syringe of Med-X. He handed it to Edun and resumed watching the windows. She went to the synth, crouching beside him. Needles of pained fatigue shot up through the heels of her feet.

“This is going to take the edge off, okay? Just relax. All of this will be over soon, and you’ll be safe.” She took the man’s hand in her own, turning his wrist up. When he saw the syringe, his eyes went wide.

“No!” He yelled, blind panic in his voice. “Keep that away from me!  _ You’re _ a synth, I’m not a synth!” Terror gripped him, and he wrenched his arm away from her and scrambled back, hands and feet flailing against the floor covered in old books and magazines. “Stay away! I want to go home!” 

If Edun weren’t so furious at him endangering all their lives, she would have felt sorry for him. The plaintive note to his voice was one borne of a genuine fear for his life. She didn’t have time for this, and each word out of his mouth could bring a patrol down on their heads. She followed his movements, and the next time he opened his mouth to scream, she slapped him hard across the face. His eyes went wide, tears filling them, as he raised a hand to the reddening surface of his cheek in shock.

“You have got to calm down, or you’ll get all of us killed,” she said in a fierce whisper. “Do you understand?” She was ready to smack him again, but the man flinched and nodded jerkily, his fear of her outweighing his fear of their predicament. Sometimes it paid to have a face that looked like a butcher’s special. People tended to take you more seriously.

Edun froze when she heard a thudding sound. At first she thought it might be her own heart, pulsing through her body, but realized what she felt was actually vibrations through the floorboards. Something was coming.  _ Power armor _ was approaching. Of all the damnable luck. She crouch-walked back to Danse, whose face was tense as he peered through a crack between bookshelves. The thudding drew closer, and a bright white light skimmed over the face of the bookstore. Whoever was in the power armor was surveying the store, searching for the source of noise. She met Danse’s eyes, and he held a finger to his lips, head cocked as he listened.

“We know someone’s in there!” a voice called. “Come out. We only want to ask a few questions. Unless you’re super mutants. Then we’ve got some bullets dying to meet you.” The voice chuckled, and a couple others joined in the laughter. There was a muffled sound from the back of the store, and Edun turned to see the woman from the group of synths clamping her hand over the hysterical man’s mouth. While Edun appreciated the move, it was likely too late for that now. They waited in the stillness, holding their breath. Danse would never forgive her if she slaughtered an entire squad of his old fellows, but if they left her no choice, she supposed she would have to bear his grudge. Her hand strayed to her belt and the grenades there. A couple frag grenades might do the trick.

“You’ve got thirty seconds, and then we light you up like a summer barbecue,” the voice called again. There was a familiar quality to it, but Edun struggled to place it. Really, most Brotherhood soldiers sounded similar. Lots of bravado. She pulled the grenade free and hooked her thumb through the pin. Danse stopped her with a soft sound and his hand over hers, shaking his head at her. His eyes were pleading.

_ We have no choice,  _ she mouthed silently at him. 

_ Get them out,  _ he mouthed back, jerking his head towards the synths. Before she could stop him, he stood and stepped out from behind the bookshelf with his hands raised in the air. She cursed silently to herself. She should have grabbed him, should have… stopped him somehow. She flashed a look at the three synths huddled at the back of the store. How in the hell was she supposed to get them out? The back door was obscured by rubble. Danse knew that. Unless he… expected the Brotherhood to take him and leave, clearing the way for her.  _ God fucking damn it, Danse.  _ Out in the street, she heard a whistle.

“We’ve got a live one! Step out here nice and slow. No sudden movements. Now tell us, you scavving piece of shit… what are you doing out he--” The words trailed off when the soldier speaking them realized who had just stepped through the doorway and onto the sidewalk. “Well I’ll be goddamned,” the voice said, taking on a frigid tone. “If it isn’t the traitor.” 

Edun struggled to catch a glimpse of the crowd outside. She edged closer, using the shelves for cover. Now she could see the soldier speaking, clad in power armor. He was facing Danse and holding his rifle level directly at Danse’s chest. Danse was without power armor, though she knew he wore kevlar under his heavy winter coat. It was poor consolation as he stood there before three Brotherhood soldiers. He faced the squad proudly, his chin high.

“In order to be a traitor, one must commit an act of treason,” Danse said steadily. “I have done no such thing.”

“I  _ knew _ you were alive,” the man in the armor said. “I didn’t believe for a second Haylen was killed by that Deathclaw. I knew she’d go running to you, wherever you’d scuttled off to. And I was right. I don’t know how you fooled Maxson into thinking you were dead, but when I bring him your head he’ll promote me to Sentinel. Just watch.”

“Why don’t you take that helmet off and face me man to man, Rhys,” Danse remained calm and collected. The steady voice of a man prepared to die.  _ Rhys. That was why his voice was so familiar.  _ Edun wanted to smack herself. She should have recognized that snide, condescending tone. She’d heard it enough during her association with the Brotherhood. He had always hated her and made his distaste clear. Rhys obliged Danse’s request, reaching up and removing his helmet.

“Here I am, Danse. Do I call you Danse, still, I wonder? Or do you go by your  _ Institute designation?”  _

“I am still Danse,” he replied easily. “And you should watch your tone. I am still technically a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, and your superior officer.”

“You sully the name of the Brotherhood with your presumption, synth,” Rhys all but spat. “Even if your rank still mattered, I owe you nothing. I am a Paladin now. Maxson himself promoted me shortly after your… exodus.” 

Danse looked surprised at that. “An interesting choice, considering you never did learn to control your temper.”

“You  _ betrayed _ us,” Rhys growled, and despite the bravado, Edun could sense the pain in his statement. “We followed you to hell and back, gave you everything… and for what? To find out you were a  _ machine _ . Were you ever really alive, or have you been a synth all these years? Was the man I served under ever human?”

“Rhys, I cannot change the course of recent history. But as I live and breathe, I am the man you knew. I have always been that man; for the things I said and felt are as real as anything can be.”

_“_ _ Liar, _ ” Rhys roared. “Pretty words only made possible by your programming. I think of all the times you watched my back, and I feel sick realizing that you could have killed me. That at any moment, someone could have flipped a switch and used you as a weapon to murder me.” He had entirely forgotten about his two squadmates. He was too twisted up in his hurt and anger towards Danse. Nothing else mattered. Edun knew these were words he had held in for a year. Grief and guilt and fury had been eating away at him for all this time as he both mourned and loathed the leader he once loved.

Danse let out a pained sigh. “Everything I felt for you, for Haylen, for the rest of my squad… that was real. Rhys, you were _family_ to me.”

“I will kill you where you stand,” Rhys howled. “And drag your unnatural body back to the Prydwen for study.”

“All they would find is a body much the same as yours,” Danse said gently. “Like you, I have a heart that beats. Vessels that carry my life’s blood throughout my living body. There is no difference between you and I, Rhys. Can’t you see that?”

“Stop using my name,” Rhys snarled. “Only friends are allowed such a privilege. Enough talk. Time to die.”

Danse answered by spreading his arms wide, anticipating the shot. Rhys stared at him, the barrel of his rifle wavering with uncertainty.

“I want you to fight me,” he decided at last. “I want to kill you with my bare hands.” He pulled the release on his power armor and stepped out of it. His squad mates moved away, distinctly uncomfortable with the proceedings. Edun could see recognition in their eyes, and respect. They knew Danse, and were helpless in this debacle.

Danse stood unmoving, unflinching as Rhys approached him with a wild look in his eyes. His breath puffed out white around his face, and he looked somehow small and alone. He marched up to Danse, dwarfed by his former commanding officer’s bulk, and shoved him hard. Danse shifted back a step beneath the assault, but made no move to retaliate. Rhys shoved him again, and once more Danse gave ground. Rhys cursed and swung a fist, connecting with Danse’s jaw. Edun watched her friend’s head snap to the side, blood and saliva spraying across the filthy snow. Danse straightened, squared his shoulders again, and regarded Rhys calmly. His arms remained loose at his sides.

“Fight back!” Rhys roared, striking Danse again. Nothing. Rhys struck him again, and again. His leather gloves made soft thuds with each impact, but his efforts were a fruitless endeavor. Danse would not fight him back. Rhys raged against Danse, not unlike a storm battering against a resolute door. Danse held, and though he was bleeding from a split lip and several contusions to his face, he was entirely unflinching. It seemed as though Rhys was growing tired, whether from physical exertion or being emotionally spent was undetermined. His blows grew weaker, and eventually he stopped. He rested his forehead against Danse’s, fists against his chest, his eyes boring into the ex Paladin’s. 

“Rhys,” Danse’s voice was so low Edun strained to hear it. “Stop this madness. It is beneath you.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Rhys straightened abruptly, his spine stiffening with a resoluteness that alarmed Edun. “You’re right,” he said. “I am a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, and I should act according to my post.” He strode back to his armor, retrieved his rifle, and took aim at Danse once more. To the end, Danse remained stoic. His eyes moved from the rifle to Rhys’ face.

“It’s alright, Rhys.” His voice was heavy, resigned. “You must do what you feel is right. Ad Victoriam, soldier.”

Rhys’ chin trembled, then he ground his teeth and squeezed the trigger. The laser rifle fired, a bolt of red-hot light blazing from the barrel and straight into Danse’s chest. He fell heavily, body crumpling into the snow still sprinkled crimson with his blood. Edun couldn’t control herself any longer. She bolted from the bookstore, launching herself into Rhys’ retreating back as he walked back to his armor, shoulders slumped. Her velocity propelled them both forward, and he crashed into the stationary power armor, crying out as his face impacted the hard steel surface. Edun clung to him, arms wrapped about his waist. He rolled as he hit the ground, flipping himself so Edun’s back was in the snow and he lay atop her. He jerked his elbow back, catching her with a vicious blow to the nose. Not for the first time in her life, Edun felt the bone break. She was beyond caring. She reached into her bag of tricks and went for oldschool, grabbing a fistful of Rhys’ loose hair and yanking his head back. She took some solace in knowing she’d ripped out a good amount of it with the effort. Rhys let out an angry cry and writhed, twisting off of her and breaking her hold on his hair.

He tried to scramble away, to regain his footing, but Edun grabbed his boot and yanked him back, twisting it hard and being rewarded with a  _ snap.  _ Rhys screamed in pain, and Edun launched herself at him, teeth bared in a ferocious grin as blood flowed freely from her newly broken nose. She straddled Rhys, striking at his face and head, and he fought and twisted under her in an attempt to dislodge her. When that didn’t work, he brought a knee up and struck her in the back. She grunted. While much slimmer than Danse, Rhys was no lightweight. The force behind that knee hurt. She decided to give him something else to cry about and raked her nails down his face, ripping at the skin. Unfortunately for him, her nails were rather long lately. Rhys forgot about his knee strikes, all right. One hand came up to clutch at the bleeding grooves down one side of his face, and Edun took the brief reprieve to pull her knife from her boot. Rhys blinked, struggling to see through the blood pooling around his eye, and went perfectly still when he felt the cold steel against his neck.

“You killed my friend” she hissed in his face, the blade so snug against his neck it drew forth a crimson drop where the serrated edge pressed. “And now I’m going to kill you.”

“Then do it,” Rhys snarled. “It changes nothing. He is dead.” His voice trembled, and Edun realized there were tears in his eyes. Despite what he’d just done, the regret in him was palpable, so thick she could almost spread it over a slice of bread.

_ “ Why? _ ” She demanded, struggling to control her own voice. “He was no danger to you. He was my best friend, and you  _ killed _ him. You erased his existence like it never mattered. And it did. It _did_ matter.” A tear fell from her right eye, then another. They splashed against Rhys’ bloodied face, and she focused on them. She saw him for what he was, then. A scared young man who was torn between his love for the man he idolized and an organization that had brainwashed him. Danse wouldn’t want this. He had given himself to draw attention away from the lives he was sworn to protect. He had refused to fight Rhys. Danse understood the war raging within Rhys too well, for it was a war he had fought within himself for the better part of a year. Edun felt shame, then, rising like bile in her throat. She wasn’t worthy to polish Danse’s boots. She realized in that moment that Rhys’ squad mates were still standing silently by, watching the events unfold. Neither of them had made a move against Danse, and neither of them made a move against her now. She raised her eyes to them, understanding.

“You two. You supported Danse. Despite the truth. Despite everything,” she whispered, her throat raw with emotion.

“Paladin Danse was the best of us,” the scribe said, stepping forward at last and clapping a fist over his heart. “His sacrifice will be honored. Ad Victoriam.”

“Ad Victoriam,” the other knight echoed.

Edun looked down at Rhys and withdrew the knife from his throat. “Go. He wouldn’t want this, even if you are a disgusting excuse for a human being. He was more of a man than you will ever be, and I want you to think about that every second you are alone. I want it to tear you up inside until you wish for death. Go, and know that every breath you draw is only because he believed in you until the end. If I ever see you again, Rhys, I’ll give you that death.”

Rhys let out a broken sounding sob and made no move to get up. Edun backed away, keeping her eyes on him. His squad approached him, lifting him from the snow and helping him hobble back to his power armor. Edun stood in the street and watched them go, her body trembling with adrenaline and grief. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in letting Rhys go. She hoped Danse’s faith in him hadn’t been misplaced in the end. When they at last turned a corner and disappeared from view, Edun let her emotions win out. She hiccupped a sob and dropped her knife in the snow, holding her hands up to her face and letting the torrent unleash. 

“Please stop crying. You look a fright when you do that,” a hoarse voice said from a snow bank at her back. Edun whirled, dropping her hands in disbelief. Danse was looking at her from where he lay, blood staining his teeth as he grinned.

“You fucking  _ fucker _ !” Edun screamed, racing to his side and dropping to her knees in the snow. “I thought you were  _ dead _ .”

“I know,” Danse chuckled, then winced. “I thought I was for a minute, too. That was a sweet speech you made. I’ll have to remember it the next time you’re testing my patience.”

She wanted desperately to thump him on the chest with her fist, but refrained on account of the laser hole in it. The shot had narrowly missed all the vital things, due in part to the fact it glanced off the shiny surface of Danse’s night vision binoculars. He was still bleeding, though less heavily now on account of the cold. For all intents and purposes, Rhys  _ had  _ tried to kill him. That was an unfortunate fact, whatever happy accident had spared Danse. It was a wound that would hurt Danse long after the one in his chest healed.

“I would have been so pissed at you if you’d died,” Edun said vehemently. “I’d have killed you again.”

“That would have been quite the feat,” he winced. “Edun… Make yourself useful and go grab that Med-X for me. And a stimpack. And probably some cotton to stuff in this new breathing hole I’ve got.”

She darted back into the bookstore again, returning to him with the needed supplies. He watched as she did the best field triage job she could considering he lay in three feet of snow, his dark eyes thoughtful.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her softly.

“It is a pretty good bandage if I may say so,” she answered, injecting the stimpack. 

“Not of this.  _ This _ is a disaster. One of my recruits blindfolded could do better. I mean with Rhys. You saw his pain through the veneer of your own anger, and chose to be merciful. You honored me with your choice. I know that must have been hard for you, especially considering how much I mean to you.”

“You grossly overestimate your value to me,” Edun said through a fresh barrage of tears. “Now shut up before I rub some dirt in this.”


	12. Tailspin

It took work, and there were a few close calls like the one Edun and Danse had experienced, but after four nights all the synths needing to be moved to a safer location were secured in their new safehouse. Glory had insisted on taking the leg across the Glowing Sea itself. As both a synth and a Railroad heavy with a penchant for miniguns, she insisted she was the most qualified for the job. She had proven herself right, safely leading each group of synths through that glowing hellscape. Their mission done, the Railroad members returned to their HQ. Lingering out in the Commonwealth or staying at the castle would only put themselves or others at risk. For the first time in months, Edun felt like she could breathe. Just a little. The tension that had been growing with each Brotherhood raid or interrogation was finally dissipated. The Brotherhood could dig all they wanted now. There was nothing for them to find. She thought of Rhys, and wondered if he would tell Maxson about seeing Danse. If he did, what would Maxson do, she wondered? Deny knowledge? Confess and declare Danse an official enemy? There was no telling. She had a feeling that Rhys wouldn’t say a word. Not after believing he had murdered Danse in cold blood.

Danse was recovering from his injury under the watchful eye of Haylen. She had banished him from returning to his training duties, and he meekly obeyed. He knew how upset she was by his brush with death and the confrontation with Rhys, and obliging her request for him to stick to light duty was his way of apologizing. Edun was similarly chastised, cowed by Preston’s sad brown eyes. Edun and Danse shot each other conspiratorial glances each time they crossed paths in the hallways, Edun rolling her eyes and pointing at her freshly bandaged nose as if to say  _ Can you believe these guys? It’s just a scratch.  _ Curie was a marvel, and had Edun’s nose back to its usual position. Well, close enough, anyway. There was only so much abuse a nasal bone could handle in one lifetime. Edun didn’t mind. She wasn’t about to win any pageants, anyway, no matter what Preston said.

They gathered in the command room to go over the plan. Edun explained, wishing she had a projector screen and a laser pointer so she could feel more official. Instead, she had markers and a paper map. Ah, well.

Their network of scouts had been mapping out Liberty Prime’s patrol routes ever since the Brotherhood increased them. He appeared to alternate between several different patrols. It was cyclical, clearly programmed in before leaving him to his own devices. With the Institute cracked open, there was little use for the robot other than safety patrols or intimidation. Edun was relieved. After sneaking into the airport once already, she didn’t think they would have been able to pull it off again. Cold wind or not, nobody would be allowed near the airport without proper identification. If the Minutemen were going to strike now, they needed to get him alone and far enough away from Brotherhood troops that the response would be too delayed to intervene. According to their observations, the best place to do that was the stretch of road running past the National Guard Training Center. Every other day, Liberty Prime made his way down that road and onward to Boston. There were no Brotherhood waystations out in that particular area, and foot traffic patrols were light on days Liberty Prime was abroad. Initially, the plan had been to approach the robot on foot with a jetpack-equipped suit of power armor. That was before they acquired a vertibird. Liberty Prime wouldn’t so much as blink his big laser-y eyes at a Brotherhood vertibird, and that gave them an advantage. Why chase after the machine on foot, when you could drop on him from the sky?

“I’m doing it,” Arden said firmly once Edun had proposed the plan. “I’m going to be the one doing the jumping. That’s the coolest fucking idea I’ve ever heard, and if anyone wants to steal the honor from me I will fight them with every breath in my body.”

“Jesus Christ, you weirdo, okay,” Edun laughed. “The jump is all yours. I’ll be busy doing the flying anyway. Now, let’s talk about distraction. The second we move, he’s going to realize something is afoot. We need a distraction so our bomber can evac without getting cut in half with a laser or nuked. Not to mention if he cuts the vertibird out of the sky, we’re all in peril. That’s where the sharpshooters come in. Cait and RJ will be stationed here,” she indicated a point on the map. “It’s a mile out, but RJ assures me with a target that size and the right kind of ammo, they can make their shots. All we need is a little bit of breathing room. Once the device is latched on, we have to clear the surrounding quarter mile area before we can detonate. Otherwise, see aforementioned fiery death. I’d rather not go down in a vertibird ever again, I’m already ugly enough.”

“Don’t worry about us,” RJ said, cracking his knuckles. “We’ll keep that big stupid soup can occupied long enough.”

“I hate to be the voice of reason here,” Cait interjected, “But what the hell are we gonna do if that thing doesn’t take the bait? What if it turns on the vertibird anyway?”

“We’re going to pray my maneuvering skills are up to snuff,” Edun replied blandly. “That’s why there will only be myself, Arden, and one person to assist with the jump on board. Less lives at risk.” Her eyes flicked up to meet Preston’s, and she saw his frustration there. He also knew she was right. She was the only person the Minutemen had who could fly a vertibird. This was solely on her, however much he disliked it.

“I will do it,” Atlas spoke up from his dark and broody mental corner. “If you’re putting my Arden at risk, I will be there to ensure her safety.”

“Both of you on the same dangerous mission?” Edun asked gently. “That’s a lot of risk, Atlas.” The words hung in the air, unspoken.  _ If both of you die, Sunshine will have nobody.  _ As soon as Elias was born, Edun and Preston had made a vow. They would never go on a mission together again. The risk was too great. They would not leave their son an orphan, though they had a contingency plan should that event ever occur. Danse and Haylen would raise him as their own. She’d rather not rely on that plan. She’d rather be there to raise her son, alongside the wonderful man she’d married. Unplanned or not, she’d do whatever it took to ensure she was a mother to Elias. She didn’t do anything half-assed. It was always full-assed, both cheeks, all in.

“Then don’t let us down,” Atlas replied with a sardonic smile.

“Right. No pressure, then,” Edun shook her head. “There are two remote detonators. I will have one with me, and ideally I will be the one who pushes it as soon as I am clear of the interference radius. If something should go wrong, Cait has the other one. Should the bird be compromised, Cait will detonate the EMP.”

“Are we blaming this one on the Railroad, too?” Arden asked, “Or will it be all-out war after this? They’re not gonna be happy about losing their favorite toy.”

“Our official stance will be one of innocence,” Edun said. “They don’t know we have someone with Sturges’ capabilities. As far as the Brotherhood is concerned, we’re just a bunch of misguided do-gooders. They think they have the monopoly on great minds, and if anyone has the means to construct such a device… it’s not us. Let’s hope that’s enough. Sturges tells me he needs one more week, and then the Institute’s device should be ready. That’s our timeline. That’s what we have to outlast.”

“When are we doing this?” Danse asked. 

“Day after tomorrow,” Edun replied. “That gives us a day to prepare and a night to take up positions nearby. Then it’s just a matter of waiting for him to appear.”

“Good,” Cait clapped loudly, making everyone jump. “Then there’s time for a game of poker and some whiskey. One last hurrah before we rain hell down on ourselves.”

“Strip poker?” Edun asked innocently.

“Absolutely  _ not _ ,” Arden protested. “Nobody encourage her! It’s far too cold to risk that kind of thing with Edun around.”

Edun largely abstained from the whiskey, choosing to stop when her ears grew warm and the tightness in her shoulders left her. From across the table, Preston eyed her knowingly. Tonight was not a night to drown one's sorrows or forget about the world. Tonight, Edun wanted her senses about her. Danse won round after round, and Cait was groaning about her insurmountable debt when Edun finally rose and bade everyone goodnight. There was a murmur of protests, but they led Edun leave. She returned to her room and closed the door silently behind her. Codsworth had long since put Elias to bed, and she crept over to the side of the crib and looked down at him. In the darkness, she could just make out the little snub nose and the full lips in a cupid’s bow. His dark, thick lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he dreamed about whatever it was babies dreamed. Perhaps about Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. Perhaps guidelines on suture techniques to minimize scarring. Who knew what Haylen had read to him earlier that day.

Selfishly, she wanted to wake him. She wanted to lift him from the crib and hold him tightly in her arms; wanted to nuzzle her face into the wealth of dark curls atop his head and promise him the world. She had not planned for this. She and Preston assumed early on that the extremely low fertility rate amongst humanity applied to him as well. Apparently it did not. She was afraid in those early weeks. Afraid that she was bringing a child into a terrible and dangerous world… Especially considering the looming threat of the Brotherhood. Her one consolation had been Preston. Whatever they faced, it would be together. If she died, Elias would be left with one hell of a father. If Preston died… and the very thought of such a thing sickened her… then Elias would have her. She might not have planned for motherhood, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to excel at it. Whole assed.

She heard the door creak, and turned to see Preston standing there. He toed quietly over to her, wrapping his long arms around her and pulling her to his chest. She leaned into him, sighing contentedly as he rested his chin atop her head.

“I guess I wanted to stand here and watch our son sleep more than I wanted to win at poker,” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied, his voice a pleasant rumble against her. “Me, too.”

“You were never going to win a match and we know it,” she smiled into the darkness, his arms smothering a chuckle when he squeezed her tight in protest. This would likely be the last quiet moment they had for some time, and they stood there and leaned into each other as they had always done; finding strength and comfort in the pillars of their bodies and hope for a future resting within the crib beside them.

An exhausted courier from Sanctuary arrived late that night, the EMP device strapped to his back along with the two detonators. Preston saw him in, unloaded his cargo, and sent the young man off to the mess hall to find something hot to eat. It was the final piece of the puzzle. The courier’s arrival had a domino effect; one by one the drunk and considerably poorer poker players excused themselves and went to bed. Danse was the last to go, staring smugly at his enormous pile of caps before scraping them off the table and into his shirt, held up like an apron, and marching resolutely off to bed. He would be unbearable in the morning between the smugness and everyone’s hangovers.

-

The best part about Reeb Marina being the location of the vertibird was that it was also close to the National Guard Center. It was one of the rare times when something went in Edun’s favor, and she decided it was as close to kismet as she would get on this operation. RJ and Cait were to stay the night at Country Crossing, moving into position first thing in the morning and setting up. Edun and her crew would stay the night in the little room she had stayed in so recently with Arden. Atlas had insisted upon bringing a rocket launcher for the occasion, hauling it all the way from the Castle without so much as breaking a sweat. He ignored Edun’s raised brows as he stowed the weapon aboard the vertibird, insisting it was better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

None of them slept that night, instead choosing to sit around the merrily crackling stove and talk. They shared stories of their adventures while apart, discussed their children, and spoke of plans for the future after the Brotherhood was unseated from power. It was an odd feeling, knowing the following day would be the start of something much bigger. The first rays of the morning sun came, filtering through the frosted-over panes of glass. Edun sighed and pulled a parcel from Cookie out of her pack. In it were her favorite things; jam-filled buns. Dogmeat would not be pleased with her for eating them without him, but it couldn’t be helped. A wild vertibird ride and angry robot were hardly suitable experiences for a dog.

They ate, then Edun left to do a systems check on the vertibird. She sat in the cockpit, running her fingers over the control panels. The metal and vinyl were cool against her fingertips. She thought back to the night that had changed everything. The night Sgt Nathan Church died, forever altering the course of her life. She reached into her pocket, then, withdrawing from it the little Swiss Army knife. It had been with her every day since the bombs fell, and its weight in her palm was comforting. To think such a small thing was the reason for her sitting here today, alive and well. It was luckier than any charm could be. She closed her fingers over it, tightening her hand into a fist around the little knife. Someday, she would give it to her son and let him carry its luck with him throughout his life. She returned the knife to its pocket, closing the velcro flap and securing it once more.

Arden came out of the room, clad in a black flight suit with a sturdy harness secured about her.

“How do I look?” She asked Edun, doing a little turnaround.

“Like a bad bitch who’s about to jump out of a vertibird and ride a giant robot like it’s a bucking bronco,” Edun told her, knowing full well that was exactly what Arden was fishing for. Her sister let out a delighted little laugh. Atlas emerged behind her.

“Let’s get you on board and secure the EMP to your harness,” he said, all business now. In many ways, he reminded Edun of Danse. Always straight to the mission. Arden followed him, climbing into the vertibird and standing still while Atlas hefted the device and snapped it to the front of Arden’s harness. Arden would need to jump from the vertibird, deploy her parachute, and direct it into the back of Liberty Prime. The magnetized base of the device would do the rest, latching on to the robot’s steel framework. From there, Arden would detach the harness and climb down while RJ and Cait distracted the robot with gunfire. Arden would run for the nearby National Guard Center, Edun would deploy the EMP, and ideally when the smoke cleared they’d have one dead robot.

Edun checked her pip boy. It was nearly go time. She rolled the large shed door open, shielding her eyes from the glare of sun on snow. It was a brilliant, scintillating sort of day. Good visibility, which was optimal for RJ and Cait. She looked back into the shed, and observed Arden and Atlas standing inside the bird. His hands held her upper arms, and their foreheads touched. He was murmuring something to her, and she saw Arden beam at him before pulling him in roughly by the ears for a kiss. As personalities went, they couldn’t be more different. Arden was much like Edun, warm and humorous. Moreso now than ever before, opening slowly as the wounds left by the Institute healed. Atlas was still rather aloof, guarded, yielding only to those he considered trustworthy. But Arden softened him, as did Sunshine. He was not the Courser she had once known. He was different, kinder.

Edun’s shoulder radio cackled. “Bertha is heading to the kitchen for a snack,” a voice said. That was the signal. Liberty Prime was on the move. They were fifteen minutes from the National Guard Center. She planned on flying out there and landing the bird on the roof before waiting for a confirmed visual. Atlas and Arden, seeing Edun’s face, got into position and took hold of their anchor straps. 

“Try not to fall out,” Edun told them as she climbed into the pilot’s seat. “I’ve been told I fly like a blindfolded wildebeest.” Arden and Atlas exchanged a disbelieving look and rolled their eyes at her in synchrony. She grinned and began to flip switches, bringing the vertibird humming to life. With their mission close at hand, Edun’s body began to respond to the anticipation with adrenaline. She willed her hands not to shake as she gave the bird just enough throttle to edge its way out of the large shed. The morning light was blinding, and she fished the pair of aviator glasses from where the last pilot had clipped them. Clear of the shed, she pulled back on the joystick and felt the stomach-lurching sensation that always came with liftoff. It was her favorite part about flying, that moment of weightlessness before everything settled again. She punched in the coordinates for the National Guard Center and turned her bird in the proper direction. The remote detonator sat on the seat beside Edun.

The 20” of unmelted snow atop the National Guard Center’s roof only made for a softer landing, and Edun set the bird down carefully, facing East. From up here, she could see a half mile in each direction of the roadway. She would see Liberty Prime’s approach with plenty of time. She checked her pip again. They’d made it with a couple minutes to spare. The bird was silent, none of them feeling particularly talkative in the face of what they were about to do. The three of them watched the road. Two minutes passed, and then an enormous figure appeared to the North. It was the top of Liberty Prime’s big ugly head as he marched up the hill. Edun clicked on her radio.

“Bertha’s fat ass just wandered into my kitchen looking for a snack.” She couldn’t help but smirk at Cait’s insisted-upon code speak.

“Tell that bitch to stay away from me snack cakes,” Cait’s brogue replied. In other words,  _ We’re in position and ready.  _

Edun lifted the bird into the air once more, climbing to five hundred feet before looping back and around the hulking figure of Liberty Prime below. As she’d hoped, the robot looked up and scanned them before taking no further notice of the vertibird. The Brotherhood insignias emblazoned on the bird were doing their job. As far as he was concerned, they were friendlies swooping in to say hello. 

“Arden, are you ready?” Edun called over her shoulder.

“Drop me like a hot potato. I’m ready,” she called back. She straddled the open side of the vertibird, looking rather ungainly with the device strapped to her front. At this height, it would take Arden roughly six seconds to reach Liberty Prime’s back in freefall. The parachute would do the rest. Edun maneuvered the bird into position and with a last quick thumbs up, Arden leaped from the side. Edun shifted the bird immediately, turning and dropping in altitude to obtain a visual. Atlas peered over her shoulder as they watched Arden’s plummet. Everything came together in what felt like the blink of an eye. Arden pulled her parachute just before hitting the robot, slowing her descent and steering into the impact. Atlas and Arden watched as she made contact and stayed put, the magnet engaging on Prime’s surface. The landing had been a hard one, but Arden’s Courser conditioning gave her a grace and strength that was unmatched by any natural-born human.

“Okay, baby, now get out of there,” Edun muttered to herself. Liberty Prime slowed, reacting to the foreign object stuck to his back. One arm raised as though to reach back and dislodge the item, but sparks erupted as Cait and RJ’s .50 incendiary rounds began to make contact on his visor. The robot shifted, turning in the direction of this new assault and marching at an increased pace. He was ready to seek and destroy. Arden appeared to be struggling to disengage the clips. She reached for something, her arm returning to her front and moving up and down. She was cutting herself free of the harness. Edun winced. She was thirty feet from the ground. That was one hell of a fall, Courser or not. Arden finished cutting, and they watched as she dropped a few feet before catching herself on the detached harness and swinging from it. She let go, tucking her legs to better absorb impact. The hanging parachute caught her, yanking her to an abrupt halt just shy of the ground before giving under her weight and dropping Arden face-first into the snow. Edun’s heart constricted as Arden’s boots fought against the filmy fabric. She was being dragged behind the enormous robot. Edun looked at the detonator. She could use it if she gave themselves more distance, but then she risked the robot falling on Arden. The plan had been for Arden to get clear first. Liberty Prime stopped again, feeling the shift in weight. He turned, his face angling down to observe the struggling synth being dragged in the snow behind him.

“No!” Atlas roared, withdrawing. Edun heard something scrape behind her.

“Atlas, don’t! The blast could hurt her, too!” She cried, but she was a moment too late. There was a roar and a hiss as the missile left the launcher. The projectile struck the back of Liberty Prime’s head, a billowing cloud of heat and smoke erupting about the robot’s head. Prime stopped, turning to face the vertibird. His visor lit up red.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Edun exclaimed. There was little time to react. Arden yanked the joystick to the side in an attempt to dodge. The blazing bright laser blast missed the center of the bird and instead sliced the tail clean off. Alarms screamed from the instrument array, and the bird fell into a tailspin. The detonator was gone, fallen to the floor in the spin. Not that Edun could do fuck-all about it with her hands full trying to minimize the damage in landing. “Bertha done fucked up!” Edun screamed into her radio. “Give her the fucking snack cakes!” At this point, she had gone off script. Cait would figure it out, if she didn’t see the situation through her long-range scope already. Damn it all to hell, she’d sworn she would never crash another bird. Atlas owed her a new ride after this. She struggled to control the spin, but without the tail she was essentially in a 15,000lb dreidel. Trees rose up to greet their descent, and Edun’s forehead slammed into the dash before the world went dark.

-

“Get them moved. The Brotherhood vultures are going to descend on this place any minute now,” a voice was warbling from somewhere far away. Edun blinked, and realized she was on a makeshift stretcher and being carried along. Her vision focused, and she recognized the blue duster of a Minuteman at her feet.

“The robot,” she managed to get out. Her tongue felt two sizes too big for her mouth. “Arden. Atlas. Where are…”

“I am here,” Atlas’ voice confirmed, and she turned her head to the side in the direction of his voice. She regretted the movement immediately, as little birdies from a cartoon circled her concussed head. Atlas was assisting in carrying another stretcher, upon which sat a rather disgruntled lookin Arden. Atlas’ clothing was singed and sooty. “The robot is down. As soon as you radioed your mayday message to Cait, she hit the detonator.”

“You wrecked my vertibird, you rat bastard,” Edun groaned, closing her eyes as a wave of nausea hit her. 

“ _ Someone  _ didn’t trust me enough to allow me to pull myself free,” Arden grumbled. “We’re lucky we succeeded at all.”

“You have a broken ankle and a twisted knee,” Atlas pointed out, his voice hard. “Unless you planned to crawl forty feet through deep snow using only your arms, you certainly  _ could not  _ pull yourself free.”

“They can’t help themselves,” Edun told Arden. “They’re always so over-helpful.”

“Stupidly throwing yourselves into dangerous situations must be in the DNA,” Atlas said in his most disapproving tone. “If I hadn’t been there, Arden would have been the one taking the laser fire instead of our vertibird. And you would be part of the smoldering ruin that is now that same vertibird.” Ah, so he had carried her out of the wreckage. Edun wasn’t sure she was happy with all the times someone had been made to carry her to safety during her time in the Wasteland. She seemed to have made a habit of it.

“Let’s save the squabbling for a time we aren’t all waiting for death to rain down on us from above,” the first voice chided, and Edun realized she vaguely recognized it. The man appeared at Edun’s side and looked down at her reprovingly. “You’ve got a concussion, Arden has a broken ankle and multiple contusions, and Atlas was scorched. You’re all lucky to be alive. Let’s focus on that right now, ok?”

“Jake Finch,” Edun said, surprised. He was in full Minutemen regalia, and stood much taller and prouder than the last time she had seen him. “Where are we going?” Edun asked. “Won’t the Brotherhood follow our tracks from the crash site?”

“We’re taking you back to my family’s farm,” he told her. “We can patch everyone up there and wait for the skies to clear. As for the tracks… We’ve got a caravan heading back in the direction we came from. Their story if asked is that they were on their way to Country Crossing when things went south, and they went to investigate. Rumor has it they saw Railroad operatives fleeing the scene in the direction of Boston.”

“Your being here doesn’t feel like a coincidence,” Edun observed. “This has my husband written all over it.”

Jake smiled at that. “He made arrangements. He wanted to ensure you had a better exit strategy than simply flying away. He was sure something would go wrong. He said you were a bit of a Murphy’s Law magnet.”

Edun sighed. “He knows me far too well. So, when did you join? I haven’t seen you come through the Castle like so many of the others.”

“I joined right after you pulled me out of that situation in Sargus Ironworks. I couldn’t return to farming. I felt like… I needed to make up for the part I played there. Make penance. I traveled to Sanctuary and spoke to Preston right after. You were off on one of your many missions at the time, so I’m afraid you missed the party.” 

Edun grinned. “The duster and hat suit you. Glad you’re on board with us.” 

He patted her shoulder and returned to the front of the little procession. Edun let out the breath she’d been holding all morning. It was done. With Liberty Prime out of the picture, they could set their sights on the real doozy - disabling the Institute for good. Right after this pesky concussion sorted itself out.


	13. Fuckballs

Edun sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, Dogmeat’s head in her lap. It was still and quiet. Now and then she would pick up the chatter of guards outside, or Preston’s gentle wheezing as he slept, but otherwise there was nothing but the pervasive darkness about her. Elias was sleeping in Danse and Haylen’s room tonight, lest Edun’s planned communication wake him. Edun checked her pip boy, the green light from the screen illuminating her in a ghostly manner. Two minutes past 2AM. Madison was late, and that wasn’t good. Edun gently massaged Dogmeat’s neck with her thumb and forefingers, and the dog closed his eyes in blissful unawareness. A week had passed since Liberty Prime face-planted in the snow, deader than a doornail. Maxson himself had radioed them shortly after, furious.  _ If I find out you and your little band of farmhands are involved with these Railroad criminals somehow, I will rain down a firestorm on you that makes the bombing of 2077 look like a fucking picnic,  _ he had snarled at her and Preston as they gathered around the radio. 

Now, Edun sat and waited for contact. They needed to move. They needed to finish what they had started before the Brotherhood did their best to wipe the Minutemen out like they were a smudge of butter at the corner of Maxson’s mouth. Five minutes late now.  _ Pet the dog, just pet the dog.  _ If Madison had been compromised, then this was it. They were up against a wall and facing an all-out war against an organization with weapons and supplies they couldn’t hope to beat in an honest war. She had put everything on the line, including the lives of Preston and their people. Was it worth it?

Blue light illuminated the room in a bright flash, and Edun held up her hand to shield her eyes from it. She blinked, seeing white spots in her vision after having sat here in the dark for so long.

“You sure know how to make an entrance,” Edun commented drily as Madison Li blinked in the dim light of the pip boy. “I was starting to think you’d been detained, or worse.”

“And you sure know how to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Madison muttered. Her eyes shifted to Preston, who was still zonked out. “Should we wake him?”

Edun shook her head. “He’s exhausted. The last week was a long one for all of us. We need to discuss the next step.”

“We must move immediately,” Madison told her, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Things are about to go from bad to worse.”

“Worse than an all-out war?” Edun snorted.

“Maxson is planning on exacting martial law. Citizens of the Commonwealth are to be scanned for synth components and tagged. Resistance will result in the assumption that they are synths or sympathizers, and they will be detained or shot on sight.”

“We won’t let him do that,” Edun growled. “We would never sit idly by while he did such a thing.”

Madison smiled bleakly. “Oh, he’s counting on that. He may not be able to prove you were involved in the liberation of those detained synths or the destruction of Liberty Prime, but he knows your hands are dirty. He has been biding his time this past week, playing along while beefing up his forces with weapons and ammunition. They have been very busy, preparing for an all-out assault on the Minutemen. Once you’re gone, there will be nobody to stop his coup. We are out of time. If we are disabling the Institute resource, we are doing it now.”

“Define...  _ now, _ ” Edun asked cautiously.

“As in right goddamn now, Edun. Is that not clear enough? They plan on striking tomorrow.”

Edun looked down at herself, wearing one of Preston’s oversized tee shirts and fuzzy pants with llamas on them before raising her eyes to Madison’s again.

“What’s the plan?” She asked, completely sober.

Madison extended her hand, and in it she held a wrist device and a smaller item that looked like a square electrode patch.

“These are Courser ships. You will wear this one, and the sticky one will be attached to the EMP device. I will lock onto your signal remotely, and teleport you into the only area free of Brotherhood soldiers. From there, you are to arm the device and begin the countdown before radioing me to teleport you out. I have established a temporary but secure frequency for all communications between us. We only have one chance at this, and there is no better time than the wee hours of morning before a major offensive is launched.”

Edun shook her head. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but… I didn’t expect you to actually go through with helping us. You’re putting yourself in a hell of a tight spot if they catch you.”

Madison’s lips tightened into a thin line. “My error in judgement has resulted in enough death already. I won’t have the deaths of potentially thousands on my hands. When I sided with the Brotherhood, I truly believed it would be for the best. That they would destroy the Institute and everything in it. I should have known that when faced with absolute power, the Brotherhood would be no different than the rest of humanity. Some choices are inevitable, regardless of who makes them.”

“Shit, Madison, that’s pessimistic of you,” Edun teased. She glanced at her sleeping husband once more, then shooed Dogmeat and reached down for her boots. “What’s this radio frequency?”

“B543. It will be faint up here on the surface, but it will be enough. I will wait for your signal.” Never one for lengthy conversations, Madison pressed a button on her own wrist device and disappeared from view with another blinding flash. Behind Edun, Preston let out another wheezy breath, but otherwise did not stir.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Edun whispered into the dark and she rose to her feet. “But if I wake you, you’ll stop me or try to play hero. And I can’t have that.” She bent down and kissed Dogmeat’s forehead. “Watch after him, buddy. I’ll be back soon.”

She grabbed her coat on the way out, pulling it on as she strode through the cold and empty hallways of the Castle. She tried not to think about the fact that everything depended on the next few minutes, and that if she fucked this up, there wouldn’t be a home to come back to. Assuming she wasn’t shot full of holes and unable to return, anyway. It was better this way. If she fell, she left Elias with the better of two parents. Preston had always been the better person, kind and thoughtful and selfless. Loving him had rubbed off on her, in a way. It made her a better person by proxy. No less stupid, perhaps, but kinder and more patient than she had once been.

In the gloom of the Barracks, the EMP device stood. It was as long as she was tall, a shining cylinder of recycled pipe that was roughly four feet in diameter. Copper coiling circled each end, and there was a keypad and small screen mounted to the side. The device was surprisingly large, but according to Sturges its size was necessary to wipe out such a wide radius. The Institute spanned several miles beneath the earth. The activation itself had to be manual. A remote detonation wasn’t feasible, not with the inability to penetrate the mile of earth between them and the Institute. There could be no guesses, nothing left to chance. Sturges had assigned an activation code, which would enable a 60 second countdown. Ideally, it was enough time to teleport back out… but not so much time that anyone could have a prayer of stopping it or interfering. The code was, ironically. 10-23-2077. She had chosen it. It seemed somehow fitting. Poetic. The day that ensured the Institute’s existence would be the thing that at last brought it to its knees.

She approached the EMP device and peeled the backing from the extra chip, pressing it to the cool metal surface. She placed a hand against the device, murmured something that might have been a prayer, and then switched on her pip boy radio. As Madison had warned, the signal was very faint. Anything other than a pip boy might not have picked it up, but Vault-Tek didn’t fuck around when it came to the best technology had to offer. 

“In position,” Edun said. 

“Stand by,” Madison’s voice returned, as though she stood at the bottom of a very deep well. There was a flash of light, and the barracks around Edun disappeared as the teleporter whisked her away.

When the light subsided and Edun was once more standing on solid ground, she looked around herself. She was standing beside the EMP just as she had been before in the barracks, but her surroundings were much different. She was standing in mud, and surrounded by earthen walls. Madison had sent her to what appeared to be a half-dug out area for an Institute expansion. It was common for the Institute to add on as needed, and she could tell by the destroyed synth workers at her feet and the tools lying about that this was exactly what it had been. The Institute was relentless in its growth, as the sprawling maps of the subterranean structure had shown. Clever of Madison, to stick her down here. This was the last place any Brotherhood soldier would bother with. It was a muddy cave, nothing more. She raised her arm and tuned into the frequency once more.

“In position. Activating now on your mark.”

“Proceed. Ready when you are.” The signal was much clearer down here, and Madison’s voice came in free of static or chatter.

Edun turned to the keypad, pressing the CMD button first. The screen lit up at the prompt, and Edun carefully and deliberately entered in each digit, ending the sequence by pressing CMD again.

“Countdown initiated. Ready for evac,” Edun spoke into the radio.

“Evac in 3… Wait, don’t!--” Her words were cut short by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Edun’s blood turned to ice. She stared at her pip boy, frozen, as the countdown beeped away behind her. She was forty...thirty nine… Seconds away from being trapped down here in the dark with a couple hundred enraged Brotherhood soldiers. She cast her eyes about the muddy room, and they fell on a sturdy looking metal trash bin with a lid. She raced across the room, unclasping her pip boy as she did so. She lifted the lid and threw the pip boy inside, bringing the lid crashing down on it. She prayed it would do the trick as a makeshift faraday cage, because without the light on that damn thing she’d be entirely blind. 

The EMP device was glowing, a green light radiating from each end as it spun up. Ten seconds, nine seconds, eight. She was going to die down here wearing fuzzy pajama pants covered in llamas. Didn’t that just beat all. Two. One. The light inside the EMP device reached a crescendo, and something that felt as well as sounded like a deafening thrumming hum radiated out from it as it deployed. The construction lights in the half-finished room went out, plunging Edun into absolute darkness.

“Fuckballs,” she said to nobody in particular.

Edun’s hands groped about the inside of the trash bin until her fingers closed over a familiar polymer shape. She extracted her pip boy from the bin, feeling about blindly for the button to wake the screen. The dark down here was complete, as only a subterranean structure without artificial light can be. She was pretty sure the only way it could be darker was if her eyeballs were plucked from her head. Ah, well, the night was young and there was likely no shortage of boys in steel who would be happy to oblige in that regard. Her finger found the button, and she pressed it, hardly daring to breathe. A familiar green light shone out from the little screen, and Edun let out a yell and punched the air. It was a short-term relief, for it meant little. There was no way out of this place, and with a glowing pip boy she might as well have painted  _ Shoot Me Please  _ across her body in glow-in-the-dark paint. Someone had shot Madison, and that meant they might have an idea that someone else was down here helping her.

If she ever saw Preston again, no doubt he would give her one of his famous disappointed looks, followed by a lecture. She didn’t mind the lectures. Those she could tune out. It was the way his eyes got sad whenever she did something dumb and put her life at risk that she couldn’t handle. She hated seeing him that way. She just… couldn’t help it. There was nothing for it. It wasn’t a mission she could have sent anyone else on. She had to see this through. She _owed_ it to the Commonwealth as penance. They were being terrorized by the Brotherhood because of her. The bones of all who had fallen to the Brotherhood thus far were her cross to bear, and she couldn’t allow that weight to increase. She was humming to herself, she realized, not missing the irony in the song being  _ The Sound of Silence _ by Simon and Garfunkel. What a fitting funeral dirge. 

She sat in the dark for what felt an eternity but was likely more like fifteen minutes, before she made up her mind. She wouldn’t wait down here, starving, hoping for a rescue that could not come. She would meet her fate head on, and accept the consequences of sacrifice. She would die like a soldier, for that was what she was when all else was stripped away. She rose to her feet, pip boy lighting the way, and made her way out of the abandoned construction area. Beyond it, there was a doorway that led into what seemed to be a storage room. Racks lined the walls, piled high with supplies that were no longer being used. Components and gadgets that were no doubt now fried, tools and Institute jumpsuits. It was a mishmash of things. She grabbed a large wrench out of one of the bins. She didn’t have a gun, but it was better than nothing. More synths lay about the room, blasted into pieces by Brotherhood gunfire. She thought she knew where she was. If she was right, then the hallway before her would eventually lead back into the Bioscience division.

She tensed in the hallway, hearing movement ahead. Retreating back into the storage room, she switched off her pip boy light and flattened herself against the wall. She held the heavy wrench at the ready. If she weren’t trying to be silent, she’d have laughed at the mental image of herself preparing to bean someone in power armor with a flimsy wrench while wearing pajamas. That would be the last thing she did, before a power fist punched her through a wall and turned her soft human body into strawberry jam. More sounds of movement, drawing closer. Heavy steps. Too heavy to be normal human feet, and she was reasonably sure there were no mutants here. She forced her spine to straighten, ground her teeth. She might be ready to die, but she wouldn’t make it easy. A dim light preceded whoever was approaching, no doubt a small hand-cranked lamp of some sort. Edun waited until the light had passed, entering the storage room before she brought the wrench crashing down.

Her heart sank as the wrench clanged off of metal, and the figure turned, sweeping her back with one steel gauntleted fist. Edun smacked into the wall, breath rushing out of her lungs with a stunned  _ oof.  _ The light turned towards her, and Edun shielded her face from the expected blow.

_“_ _ Edun _ ,” a mild voice observed. “I might have known it would be you.”

Edun lowered her hands, squinting at the darkness behind the light. “Ingram? That you?”

Ingram answered with a long sigh, turning the light to angle up at her face. It was indeed Ingram, looking more tired than a cat rancher.

“I don’t know if I should kick your ass or kiss you.”

Edun chuckled darkly. “Well, if I had to choose between the two, I think I’d rather have the latter option. You’re not half bad.” She flipped her pip boy back on, filling the room with a green glow.

“Your charm exceeds your reputation,” Ingram said sarcastically. 

“What are you doing down here? How did you know I was here?” Edun asked, dropping the small talk. “If you were here to kill me, I expect I’d be full of bullet holes by now.”

“Madison sent me,” Ingram replied. “She told me where you would be, and begged me to help you.”

“Where’s Madison?” Edun asked, though she felt she knew the answer.

“Dead now,” Ingram confirmed Edun’s suspicions. “Her last words were of you. They caught her in the act of helping the Minutemen. There is a no-tolerance policy in effect when it comes to treason. If you so much as sniff wrong, they’ll shoot you.”

“Damn it,” Edun swore. “I knew this was risky, but… She gave everything to right the mistakes she made.”

“As have you, it would seem,” Ingram observed. “You trapped yourself down here with the very people who would see you dead.”

“The alternative was sitting by while your merry little Brotherhood murdered innocents and enacted totalitarian rule, so… seemed like a worthwhile risk.”

Ingram let out a long breath. “Edun, I don’t know what to think. The Brotherhood has always been rough around the edges, sure, but… this has gone way too far. This is not the Brotherhood I signed up with, nor the Brotherhood I wish to be a part of. What they’ve been doing… it’s wrong. I’m not here to fight you. I want to help.”

“Not much to be done, now,” Edun gestured, the pip boy light following the arc of her arm. “You and I are equally stuck.”

“I am,” Ingram admitted. “But  _ you _ are not. There is a way out of this.”

Edun squinted at her suspiciously. “In a bodybag, yeah.”

“There is an escape route nobody knows about,” Ingram told her. “If you’re wondering why your diagrams of this place don’t show it, that is because it’s not on any of them. It was a...  _ Contingency plan _ for the acting Director, built decades before Shaun’s time. Funny enough, even as they were building the first synths, they feared them. It would seem whatever Director commissioned it expected that a revolution of their creations was an inevitability, and planned for it. It just came much later than he thought it would.”

Edun crossed her arms over her chest, the light bobbing about them. “If you know about it, then I imagine the rest of the Brotherhood knows about it.”

Ingram shook her head. “No. I found it entirely by accident, down in Old Robotics. We were stripping the area of anything useful, returning it to the Prydwen to fortify the struggling ship. A Protectron charging station had a false back to it, and when I opened it up to strip out electrical components… there it was. A doorway out of here.”

“And you just kept it to yourself?” Edun pressed. “Why would you do that?”

Ingram smiled mirthlessly. “I figured it was still a contingency plan… for me. Look, Edun, one way or another… I can’t be a part of this anymore. I’m offering you a way out of here, so you can go finish what you started up on the surface. Bring an end to this madness, before my comrades beat and bash their way to freedom.”

A thought slid into Edun’s head. “So… the EMP didn’t disable all their power armor?”

“Unfortunately, no. Our suits encase all electrical components. Essentially, they are walking Faraday cages. They were deliberately designed this way. Pre-war paranoia did more for engineering than anything else ever has. I just don’t have a cool helmet with a lamp on it, hence this thing.” She gave the hand-crank light a shake.

“So you want me to walk through an Institute full of Brotherhood soldiers in fully functional power armor, stumbling about in the darkness I caused, and hope nobody… I don’t know… murders me?”

“You can be disguised as a scribe easily enough,” Ingram told her. “Stay here, and I will retrieve some gear for you.” She turned as if to leave, but Edun stopped her with an upheld hand.

“What about Maxson? He’s not stupid. He’ll know I’m still down here, with my escape buddy murdered.”

“Maxson isn’t here,” Ingram told her. “He has been on the Prydwen for the last week, overseeing plans for the takeover of the Commonwealth. They will know shortly something is amiss, with nobody able to teleport in or receive communications… but we have a small window of time. Even if they figure out what happened, there isn’t much they can do.”

“They can hit the Castle and everyone in it,” Edun argued. “Revenge, if nothing else.”

“I don't think so. Not with the majority of Brotherhood troops trapped down here.”

Edun shrugged. “True enough. Go grab that gear. And don’t take too long. It’s creepy as hell, sitting here in the dark.”

Ingram left, and Edun resumed humming to herself. She wondered if Dogmeat could see in the dark. He probably could, considering he had all sorts of suspicious and somewhat magical powers at his disposal. She dug through the various bins of equipment, but found nothing of further use. Stepping around the remains of maintenance synths, she was reminded of another time she had stepped over bodies like this. Her surroundings were not unlike a battlefield, severed limbs and lifeless forms littering the ground at her feet. When Ingram finally returned, Edun was sitting in a corner flipping through mission logs on her pip boy. She stood, and Ingram held out a pile of Brotherhood gear.

“Best get changed quickly. We need to move,” she ordered.

“Turn your back, lest you be seized by the irresistible urge to make good on that kissing threat,” Edun teased, dropping her coat to the floor first.

“Someone has to hold up the light for you,” Ingram pointed out. “Besides, you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen after a decade of sharing close quarters with other soldiers. You’re going to have to stow that pip boy of yours in the pack I brought. It’s a dead giveaway for who you are. Nobody in the Brotherhood has one of those gadgets, though not for lack of trying.”

Edun sighed and removed her pip boy, tucking it away in the pack before returning to the task of changing her clothes. It amused her to think that a pair of fuzzy llama pants would forever rest down here, in the catacombs of the institute. The new fatigues fit reasonably well, though whatever scribe had last worn them had considerably more junk in their trunk. With the helmet on and the visor pulled down, she would be well obscured. Nodding in approval, Ingram led the way out of the storage room. Now they needed to get to the doorway in Old Robotics, without being stopped.

The Institute was in chaos as soldiers moved back and forth, barking orders as they worked to establish what had happened to the power. From what Edun gathered, they hadn’t yet grasped the idea of an EMP being the problem. Why would they, she reminded herself. EMPs were a thing of pre-war nightmares, and their power armor was still functioning. She followed Ingram silently as the woman’s light carved a path for them through the Atrium and to the door that would lead them into Old Robotics.

“Ingram!” A voice called. To Ingram’s credit, she didn’t flinch. She only turned around to face the questing soldier.

A man Edun didn’t recognize approached them, a flashlight shining off their faces. Edun angled her head away, worried about someone spotting her telltale scarring beneath the visor.

“Knight Mendoza,” Ingram said as he approached. “Any luck finding the source of the outage?”

“Nothing yet,” Mendoza admitted. “We’ve got our Institute Scientists on the case. They’re looking at the reactor, trying to sort out if a fuse blew or something. Whole damn place has gone dark, so it’s just a lot of back and forth on foot right now. Where are you two off to?”

“Gonna grab some equipment I’ve got stored down in Old Robotics. I’ve got some ideas on getting this place lit up again, as best I can.” Her voice was easy, as if this were just another day on the job.

“You need help with that? There’s only the two of you,” Mendoza offered, eyeing them.

“Nah, we’re big girls,” Ingram laughed. “Don’t want anyone thinking I can’t pull my weight.” It was a deliberate allusion to her lack of legs, and Edun could see it immediately embarrassed Mendoza. He took an actual step back, uncomfortable.

“Of course, didn’t mean to imply otherwise, Proctor. I’ll let you know if there’s any new updates when you get back.”

“Roger that,” she answered pleasantly, pushing the door to Old Robotics open. Mendoza returned to the chaos at hand, and the two women made their way into the depths of Old Robotics.

The dilapidated branch was empty, whatever soldiers were stationed within had gone to assist in the power crisis. Ingram led them down a series of hallways until finally coming out in what appeared to be a Protectron storage area. It was devoid of the robots, the room cleared out for the most part. Ingram strode over to one of the old charging stations against the wall, handing her light to Edun.

“Hold this,” she ordered. Edun took the light and turned it towards the charging station. Ingram reached into a pocket and removed a screwdriver, setting to work on removing the panel that ran the full height of the charging station. They were both silent as Ingram removed the screws one by one, letting them fall to the floor at her feet rather than hang on to them. The last one finally came free, and Ingram made a pleased noise in her throat before lifting the thick steel panel up and to the side. It was effortless for her, with the strength of her power armor aiding her. Edun peered over Ingram’s shoulder into the shaft ahead, and stared at what appeared to be a glorified dumbwaiter.

_“_ _ That’s _ the way out?” She asked stupidly.

“Yep. With the power out, there’s only one way to leave. You’re going to have to hand-pulley yourself. It’s gonna be a grueling task. You’re looking at probably 1300 feet, maybe more... but it’s the only way. I thought I’d be the one using it, and wasn’t overly concerned, what with my frame… but it’s going to be something like a thousand pull-ups for you.”

Edun groaned. “You’re making me regret all the snack cakes I imbibed alongside Dogmeat right now.” Ingram just shrugged and offered a small smile.

Light flooded the room as someone turned a brilliant white beam on them. Both women flinched, tensed, waiting for gunfire to follow.

“First Danse betrayed us, then Haylen… And now you, Ingram?” Edun nearly screamed aloud in frustration as  _ Paladin  _ Rhys entered the room, holding an assault rifle with a light mounted to it. “Tell me this is a dream, and I’m not imagining you helping this… terrorist… escape the scene.”

“Now hang on a second. The only thing I terrorize is Charlie’s whiskey stores,” Edun pointed out. “And one could argue the only terrorist here is you. I don’t know what else you would call murdering your former CO and friend in cold blood.”

She couldn’t see Rhys’s face well enough to tell if she’d struck home with that barb, but she was sure she had. He didn’t know Danse was still alive, and as far as she was concerned… he didn’t deserve to know. That was privileged information for friends only.

“The only thing I murdered was a machine,” Rhys insisted doggedly. “But if you think I won’t blow you away the same as I did that  _ thing,  _ you’re wrong. Make one wrong move, and I’ll tell Maxson you left me no choice.”

“Rhys,” Ingram was stunned, angry. “You killed  _ Danse? _ ”

“You knew he was alive, too?” Rhys growled and took aim at Edun. “Proof of your treachery, then. I’ll kill you both.”

Ingram moved then, taking Edun by the arm and pulling her around to her back, effectively blocking Rhys’ view.

“Go, Edun,” she said. “He won’t shoot me. I’ll hold him off as long as I can. Let’s just hope those arms of yours are stronger than they look.”

“Ingram, they’ll have you shot for treason,” Edun protested, but Ingram’s arm against her was an immovable force.

“I said go,” the woman insisted, her voice hard. “While there’s still time.”

“Ingram, I’m  _ warning _ you,” Rhys growled.

Edun swallowed her pride and disobedience, and stepped into the dumbwaiter. She still held Ingram’s light, and it revealed a long, smooth steel shaft stretching up into what seemed to be the infinite universe. To one side, she saw the pulley and the thick black cables that ran up the length of the shaft. She set the light down at her feet, took hold of the cable to the right, and began to pull hard on it. The platform beneath her feet wobbled unsteadily as the little man-sized cage began to rise towards the surface. She was suddenly grateful for the gloves Ingram had provided. Otherwise, this ascent would have destroyed her palms. She cleared the doorway, wishing once more that she’d laid off the snack cakes. Below, she heard Rhys’ voice again, harsh and urgent, and Ingram’s answering mellow tone before gunfire broke out in the room beyond.


	14. Lean On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiiiiiii. I broke my religious updating schedule this weekend. I have no excuse other than Valhalla has absorbed me entirely. My apologies. Blame Eivor.  
> \----------------------------------

Edun emerged in what appeared to be a locked utility closet somewhere inside the CIT ruins. She had no lockpicks on her, so resorted to kicking the door jamb violently over and over and over again until at last the latch tore through ancient wood, and she staggered out into the CIT Rotunda. The place was eerily silent. Once, it had held super mutants. Then Gen 2 synths cleared the place out. She hadn’t been here since her discussion with Shaun following the events of bunker hill. Her arms and shoulders burned and tremored from the effort of pulling herself up from the Institute, not only levering herself up but also the weight of the steel cage itself. She owed her life to Danse’s training regimens. She supposed the thing had never been intended for use without power. Certainly some frail old Institute Director could never have done so. Ingram… She was still down there, without an escape if not already dead at the hands of Rhys. The thought infuriated her. She wished desperately that she had killed him when she had the chance. Her life seemed to be a never ending montage of consequences biting her in the ass.

Playing things carefully had served no one. Maxson was not trapped in the Institute with his men. He was safe aboard the Prydwen. Once they figured out what was going on, they’d come for Edun and her people. She needed a way to blow that damn airship out of the sky. Danse might not approve, but it was coming down to an us vs. them scenario, and she wouldn’t leave the Commonwealth to that overpuffed bastard.

It was snowing again, and Edun was reminded of the fact her coat was somewhere in the Institute below. She was also dressed like a member of the Brotherhood, which was fine unless she ran into some overzealous raiders or super mutants. She remembered the pip boy in her pack, unslinging the bag and pulling Old Faithful back out. Snapping the device around her wrist, she tuned into the Minutemen frequency.

“I don't know who’s on radio duty today, but will someone please get my husband on the line?” 

There was only a second’s pause before a familiar voice replied,  _ “This is your husband, and you’d better have a damn good explanation as to why I woke up to find both my wife and the EMP gone.” _

“The EMP is in the depths of the Institute. It did its job. They’re in full blackout, and still scrambling to figure out what happened. For now.” She watched the snow fall through broken window panes and shivered.

_ “And where are you?” _

“The CIT ruins, about to freeze to death. Can you radio whoever is nearby and ask them to bring me a big warm coat and provide an escort back home? I don’t have any weapons other than my sharp wit just about now.”

A long, exasperated, growly sigh. _ “Edun, when you get back, you and I are going to have a serious discussion about running off half-cocked on a mission you didn’t tell anyone about. And without a jacket, no less. It’s ten degrees outside.”  _

“You can lecture me all you want after you kiss me. I’ve had a very rough night. But first, wife. Freezing. Now.”

_ “I’ll see who I’ve got in the area. Stay there and wait for someone to radio you.” _

She smiled despite herself. “See you later, alligator.”

_ “I’m going to hang you from your toes for a while, crocodile.” _

There was nothing to do now but wait, so Edun paced back and forth in the lobby of the Rotunda, rubbing her hands together or vigorously stroking her upper arms for warmth. She thought about how she would get to Maxson, and the more she thought the more frustrated she felt. Without her stolen vertibird, there was no way to even get close to the Prydwen. They had no weapons down here capable of taking the enormous ship down. Missile launchers were useless from so far away. Wait...  _ The artillery in the Castle _ . Those mortars more than packed enough punch. She’d have to look into the effective distance, but perhaps such a thing was doable. She hugged herself, whether from relief at the idea or from struggling against the cold, she couldn’t say. Both, probably. Though it wasn't exactly a warming thought, the prospect or murdering a ship full of people. Some of them innocent. She understood it came with the territory. In war, casualties were an inevitability. She had just tried so _hard_ to prevent it from coming to this, and it meant nothing.

An hour passed, and then Edun’s radio chattered. She raised the pip boy and adjusted the dial. 

_ “I heard there was some green-around-the-ears tourist lookin’ for some assistance in the area,” _ a voice drawled from the little speaker.

“Deacon,” Edun breathed, relief flooding her. “They sent you, huh? All the good ones were busy?”

_ “Listen dollface, I’ve got a thick wool coat with your name on it, but if that’s how you’re gonna be…” _

Edun chuckled. “No, no, I’m kidding. You’re the greatest and sweetest Deeks there ever was. A true champion among men.”

_ “That’s more like it. Where are you? These ruins are a big place.” _

“In the Rotunda. Bring hot chocolate.”

When the door creaked open and she saw Deacon’s face peering through the opening, she all but launched herself at him. He accepted the hug with his usual grace, squeezing her tight before setting her back on her feet.

“So you left all those tin soldiers down there in the pitch dark, huh?” He asked, handing her the promised coat.

“Yeah. They’re mad as hell over it,” she acknowledged as she shrugged into the blessed warmth of the wool. Deacon offered her a hat as well, which she snatched greedily.

“That’s got to be the funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard,” Deacon all but giggled with the statement. “No doubt they’ll find a way out eventually, but… Damn, that’s funny. Glory is going to bust a rib over that. Ah, before I forget… Here.” He proffered a tarnished Springfield 1911, which she took gratefully. She was a little less helpless now, at least.

With Edun properly attired, the two of them struck out across the Commonwealth. Edun filled him in on Madison’s visit, the urgency of deploying the EMP, and the events as they unfolded below. When she got to the part about Ingram’s death, she felt cold all over once more. It was the sort of cold no amount of wool garb could help.

“You know, you’ve got a funny way about you,” Deacon observed.

“How’s that? My smell?” Edun quipped back.

Deacon shook his head. “Somethin’ about you just… brings out the good in people. Even those who have lost a clear vision of right and wrong. Ingram joined an organization of assholes, served them for years… and then you come along, and suddenly she’s sacrificing herself to protect you. Because she believes in you enough to question the things she used to accept blindly. That’s some seriously powerful medicine you’ve got there.”

“I don’t think it’s all because of me,” Edun hedged. “The people who step up and help… They’ve always been good people. They just needed a reminder of that, and I happened to be the first one to nudge them.”

“Play modest all you want,” Deacon shrugged. “You walked out of that vault and brought the winds of change with you. Proof’s in the puddin’, sweetheart.”

“You think too much of me. You’re giving me undue credit.”

Deacon snorted. “I could say the same about you. I tried to tell you once, long ago, that I’m no good.”

Edun raised an eyebrow at him before carefully climbing over a row of rusted out automobiles. “I don’t remember such a conversation.”

“Makes sense, you were pretty hammered.”

Their conversation was paused by a feral ghoul crawling out from beneath one of the burned-out cars. Edun put a round neatly in the creature’s skull.

“You’re talking about the drinking contest, forever ago,” she surmised.

“The one and the same,” he admitted. "The first and last time Sweet Deeks spilled all his beans."

“You said… you ran with a gang, right? One with anti-synth sentiments?”

Deacon smiled enigmatically, before pulling his face covering up. Without his glasses to shield him, she could see the mingled sorrow and regret in his eyes. Adjusting his scarf was just an automatic protective reflex. Deacon was all about fun and games, but Edun recognized it for what it was. A coping mechanism. She had the same one. When shit got rough, you cracked jokes. Sometimes while someone cracked your ribs.

“Yeah. Pretty much. We called ourselves the  _ Deathclaws _ . It all went south after they lynched a guy they suspected was a synth. Didn’t even have evidence, not really. They just didn’t like the look of him, and that was all it took. But that’s how mob mentality works, right? Everyone just shuffles in unison, ruled by fear and anger. I try to tell myself I was different, but I wasn’t. Not really. I didn’t string the guy up myself, but I watched. I cheered along, even if by that point I was only doing it out of fear they’d turn on me as a sympathizer.”

Edun stopped walking, turning back to him. “Deacon, we all make mistakes. It’s part of growing. You’re not the man you were back then. I know better.”

“Am I a different man, or have I chosen a life of penance in the Railroad to deny my true nature?” He winked. He was keeping his voice light. More deflection. “That’s not even the worst of it. After I parted ways with the gang, I… met someone. Settled down. I thought I was happy, that I’d buried my past. Barb convinced me there was goodness in me, made me believe I wasn’t such a shit after all.” 

Edun remembered the way he looked at her, sitting by her window in the Hotel Rexford.  _ What did you mean when you said your husband died by your hand?  _ She knew where this was going, and something wrenched in her gut when she saw a mirror of her own past pain in Deacon’s face.

“She died,” Edun whispered. “Didn’t she?”

“We tried to have kids. Tried for a long time. It wasn’t until we did some serious digging, ran some tests, that the truth came out. She wasn't like other women. My Barb was a synth. You know what’s crazy about that? I didn’t care. I didn’t love her any less. I’d have loved her the rest of my life, regardless of where she came from or whether or not we could have kids. The thing is, small town doctors talk. They talk a lot. The second that son of a bitch started flapping his lips about Barb’s test results and x rays, word spread like wildfire. You know how paranoid and crazy some wastelanders can be. The town… pulled away from us. Recoiled. They all but threatened us. We didn’t care too much. We had each other, and as far as we were concerned… that was all that mattered. Then word got back to the Deathclaws. They came for Barb while I was out of town.” He swallowed, hard, and Edun realized it was the second time in all their friendship that she had seen him like this. Raw, emotional. Open. She reached out and took his hand in hers. He looked down at the contact, squeezing her hand tightly in his.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful,” she told him gently.

He shook his head. “No. I… Need to. It’s important. When I got back to our little farmstead, she was… hanging from the big oak in the front yard. They’d beaten her half to death before letting the rope finish it. There was a sign pinned to her chest, written in her blood. It said… ‘ _ No mercy for synth lovers’.  _ Something broke in me that day. I don’t… remember much. I blacked out. I know I killed them. I hunted them down and I killed every last one of them. By the time I regained myself, I was standing over a sink washing blood from my hands and their bodies were scattered about their den. I went home, buried my wife, and drowned myself in liquor until the Railroad approached me. I guess you know the rest.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Edun’s gut twisted with empathy for her friend. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“I’m not sharing it for funsies,” he told her fiercely, gripping her hand tighter. “I’m telling you this for a reason. You see, I fucked up. I was one of the bad guys, and it cost me everything. You need to know how important you are. How rare you are. You’ve never been one of the bad guys. Not once. Not of your own accord, not under pressure, and not even when it nearly cost you everything. I’m telling you all this because you need to understand your own value, and why people follow you. They follow you because you’ve never been a sad sack of shit in need of redemption. I will live out the rest of my days making up for the things I did and the damage I caused, but you… You’re in the clear. So don’t sell yourself short, and don’t undermine your own goodness. Or I’ll smack the shit out of you.”

His ferocity surprised her. She allowed a small smile, then, blinking back the tears in her eyes. “Thanks, Deeks. That puts a lot in perspective.”

“Good, because this was a lifetime of touchy feely talk. One foot in front of the other now, soldier. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us and it’s fuckin’ freezing out here.”

The rest of their journey was a tense one, as they did their best to avoid Brotherhood patrols and tried to stay warm. She wasn’t officially on Maxson’s hit list, not yet anyway, but that didn’t mean she or Deacon wanted to deal with being stopped and given the full hospitality treatment. Deacon, despite being an effortless liar, was still a member of the Railroad. The Railroad was at the very top of the Brotherhood’s hit list. She wasn’t sure how he would hold up under interrogation, but with one pistol and no kevlar, she wasn’t in a position to protect him if a squad of meatheads decided to take him in for questioning. She certainly wouldn’t be able to pull another heist off like she had done for the synths held hostage at the airport. Deacon was a stealthy sort, though, well-practiced in being invisible. They made it through Boston without being seen, and thanks to the Brotherhood presence… no super mutants harried them.

Whatever lecture Preston had in store for her was forgotten the moment she and Deacon walked through the gates of the Castle. He marched across the courtyard looking like a fresh blizzard blowing in and pulled her into a tight hug. She felt too guilty to protest the force in his arms as he squeezed her like a starving anaconda. She patted his back in a comforting manner, letting him hug out his frustration and worry.

_ “ You left me in the middle of the night _ ,” he said at last, pulling away from her and placing his hands on her shoulders. He gave her a little shake. “You didn’t leave a note, didn’t say a word. You just  _ left. _ ”

“I had to,” Edun protested. “Madison didn’t radio in. She teleported into our bedroom, said it was urgent and there was no time. I did what I had to do.”

His eyes searched hers, and there was a deep sadness in them as he let his hands fall from her. “All this time being together, and you still don’t trust me enough to share in your decisions. I keep hoping that eventually, you’ll let me in. That you’ll lean on me as I lean on you. But time and again you freeze me out, and you always use the excuse that it’s  _ for my own good.  _ It’s selfish and unfair. I can’t… I can’t talk to you right now. I’m glad you’re alive, but… I need some time to process all this.” He stepped away from her, turning and striding back into the Castle without another word. 

Edun watched him go. He was right, of course. He had done nothing to warrant this sort of treatment from her. He had supported her in every decision she had ever made, and yet she still felt the need to freeze him out and hide her choices from him. He wouldn’t have stopped her from going to the Institute with the EMP. He just wanted a chance to say _goodbye._ She hadn’t had the courtesy to shake him awake before she left. How could she be so cruel to a man who had given her everything he had? A lump rose in her throat, and she realized Deacon was still standing behind her. He didn’t say a word, just put an arm around her and gave her a little side hug.  _ You’re wrong about me, sweet Deeks,  _ Edun thought to herself.  _ I have been a bad guy. I am one, right now. _

-

“I fucked up, and I’m sorry. Not just for yesterday, but… for all the other times I pushed you away or left you in the dark.”

She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, willing her words to push through the invisible barrier he had erected between them. She had given him the space he requested, sleeping in the library the night before with a blanket pulled over her. She didn’t feel as though she deserved the comfort of a bed, not when he was hurting and it was her fault.

He didn’t turn to look at her from where he stood beside Elias’ crib, looking down at their son. “I believe you’re sorry,” he answered in a low voice. “That’s not the issue. You’re always sorry…  _ After _ the fact. I need to know this is going to stop. That you’re going to trust me and afford me the same respect I give you.”

“Preston, I… won’t make excuses. Everything you feel is valid. I can’t change the fact that I hurt you, but I can change what I do in the future. I will never pull a shenanigan like yesterday’s again without telling you first. You have my word on that. And you know I--”

“Never break a promise,” he finished for her, turning to face her. His face softened then, warmth returning to his eyes. She crossed the room to him, letting him fold her up in his arms, and sniffled into his thick sweater. They stood in place for a long moment, swaying gently, drowning in each other before Preston pulled away.

“There is something you should know,” he told her, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Maxson radioed his morning. He wants to… parley.”

Edun couldn’t have been more surprised than if Dogmeat went on a diet. “Parley? About what? They have bigger guns than us.”

“Do they?” Preston asked, a corner of his mouth lifting. “All they have left for now is that big airship of theirs. If we were to aim some artillery a little more to the left, we’d have them where we want them. He knows that.”

“I was wondering about that,” Edun said. “I guess it’s a standoff, then, isn’t it? He lost his Institute fortress, and without it… they’re vulnerable again.”

“Guess we’re not just a band of ragtag farmers after all,” Preston smiled. “They will be arriving this afternoon, and whatever they have planned… I’d like you to be part of the talks. You have full permission to nut-punch him if he gets out of line.”

“Preston Garvey, you make all my dreams come true,” Edun chuckled.


	15. So Shall It Be

The rest of the day was filled with security preparations. If Maxson planned to pull any shit, the Minutemen would be ready. Forces were bolstered around the Castle and security was doubled. Edun oversaw the arrangement of the command room, where the negotiations would theoretically take place. The long oak table was cleared of all papers, the large map rolled up and stowed away. Edun worried briefly about the possibility of a Trojan horse situation, but decided she was being paranoid. Maxson had thus far conducted himself relatively honorably, despite his hatred for synths. He had stayed his hand many times when he could have started a war against the Minutemen. He was as reluctant to order the spilling of his men’s blood as she and Preston were, it would seem. Either way, she doubted there was much to say. Whatever flexibility he had exhibited in the early days of Brotherhood occupation was gone. He had resumed his role as close-minded xenophobe as soon as Edun and her people left him to his Institute.

The hour drew near, and the Castle was uncharacteristically silent as apprehension cast a shadow over everything. No Brotherhood soldier had ever been inside Castle walls, and with tensions running as high as they were, Edun wasn’t the only one concerned that there was an ulterior motive at play. When the three vertibirds were spotted making their approach, Preston and Edun stood on the ramparts and watched. They set down on the cleared road stretching from the Castle to Boston, rotors kicking up gusts of air and powdered snow. Kells stepped down first, followed by Maxson and three knights in power armor. Edun and Preston took the stairs down. Preston was dressed for the occasion. He wore his General’s uniform, clean and pressed, as well as his best tricorn hat. Edun was clad in leather pants, a heavy black sweater, and her blue Minutemen duster. 

Maxson had changed little since Edun last saw him. He wore the same leather coat and black armored flight suit beneath. His hair was in the same style, long on top and brought down into a tight skin fade. His beard was longer, though no less carefully trimmed. He and his entourage strode into the courtyard with an air of authority and smugness, as though coming here and standing amongst the Minutemen was a boon granted. An errand beneath them. His hawk like gaze took in his surroundings as they approached, missing nothing. He was sizing up their security, the defenses the Castle offered. He was weighing the consequences of a fight with the Minutemen, and Edun took some grim satisfaction in the flitting look concern that crossed his face. They were more than he expected. 

The Minutemen had not been idle for a single moment since the end of the Institute. Their ranks had grown to be formidable, and under Danse’s relentless training regime, they were all proper soldiers now. Maxson might have dismissed them as an errant militia, but seeing the matching coats and hats in addition to the uniformity of their movements was a wake up call for him. 

“General Garvey,” Maxson greeted Preston solemnly as he came to a halt before them. “Edun,” he added with a nod. There were no handshakes. Handshakes were for politicians, and none of them were any such thing.

“Elder Maxson, welcome. Shall we get started?” Preston’s voice was equally formal. It was the tone he used when he was in General mode around new recruits. Before they figured out what a big softie he was, anyway. There was no softness to Preston now. He was made of stone, face unreadable. Maxson inclined his head again, and followed their lead into the Castle and down the hall to the command room. His guards followed him, though their weapons remained holstered. Edun wasn’t a fan of the idea of three armored soldiers in the parley meeting with them, but she would have to trust that Maxson was hardly a guerilla warrior. He would abide by the rules.

Once they were all in the command room and the door was shut, the two factions faced each other across the oak table.

“Let’s start with the most obvious item,” Maxson began, directing his words at Preston. “The Institute has gone dark, and I am absolutely certain you and your people are involved in it somehow.”

“Are you implying that a barn full of farmers infiltrated the Institute without a teleporter and managed to take out the entire place without being noticed?” Preston kept his voice light, amused, but not without a slight edge to it.

Maxson’s eyes glittered. “You and I both know the Minutemen are more than a handful of well-meaning farmers. They have been more than that for some time, now that I think on it. I suspect this isn’t the only thing you’ve had your hands in. Someone sabotaged Liberty Prime. My people tell me all his circuits were blown, as though by an EMP. You wouldn’t know anything about  _ that _ , would you?”

“Are you here to sling accusations around, Elder, or did you demand this parley to discuss how we move forward?” Preston was every inch a General, his quiet strength carried in his words. Edun vowed when this was over she would parley him right here atop the command table. It wouldn’t be the first time, though only Dogmeat knew that.

“We have been chasing our tails for too long,” Maxson assented. “For over a year, you have done your best to block our operations. I tolerated it, valuing the sanctity of human lives - Minutemen or not - more than a handful of escaped machines. But you have taken things too far. You have invaded our detention facility, destroyed an extremely valuable Brotherhood asset, and now you have done god knows what to our new headquarters. I cannot let this stand. I am here to deliver an ultimatum: Either back down and allow us to continue our work in purging the Commonwealth of abominations, or we go to war. I don’t think I need to tell you that your Minutemen are far outmatched by us. We have superior weaponry. We have power armor. We have numbers.”

“With all due respect, you don’t have a leg to stand on.” Preston’s voice hardened. “Half your forces are trapped within the Institute. All you’ve got left is whatever ground troops are out there in the Commonwealth, and that floating ship of yours. I know it’s been all you can do to keep it afloat. It’s hardly battle-worthy. A ship which, I should add, currently has our artillery pointed at it. I’m willing to bet you tucked away most of your food, weaponry, and munitions in the Institute. That means it’s somewhere your ground troops can’t access their supplies. Do not stand here and threaten the lives of innocent men and women. While they are good people, they would not hesitate to bring the East Coast chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel to its knees. We are ready, Elder. We have been, for some time.”

A vein stood out on Maxson’s forehead as he struggled to reign in his fury. He was not a man used to being told no. For years, he had been surrounded by soldiers who thought the very Earth existed because he wished it to be so. He was backed into a corner, and he knew it. His eyes flicked from Preston’s impassive face to Edun’s. Edun did not have the same restraint. Her eyes were sparkling and she knew it. Maxson’s brows drew down, and for a moment Edun saw him for what he was. A man not quite twenty-two years in age. Emotion betrayed him. He was just a goddamn kid, really, brilliant leader or not.

“We will fight you with what we have for as long as we are able,” Maxson said quietly. “Tell me the deaths on both sides outweigh the existence of a handful of automatons living in desperate denial. Tell me you truly value them more than you value your own people.”

“They  _ are  _ our people,” Preston replied. “And just like any other humans, natural-born or not, we will defend them to our last breath. We will not make the same mistake as our forefathers, and allow one life to have less value than another.”

Oh, she was going to parley him _so_ fucking hard after this.

“You are fools, both of you.” Maxson’s face was pained, angry. “You are forcing my hand in this, but I _will_ honor the tenants of the Brotherhood. Without them, humanity is doomed to repeat the cycle of self-destruction.”

“Maxson, surely you will not remain a slave to Brotherhood ideals,” Edun cut in. “You have lived in the Commonwealth long enough to know it is not so simple. One of your own was a synth, and until you knew that fact, you loved him as a brother. You saw the humanity in him. He is not an isolated example. There are many others out there. They have no nefarious intentions, no plans for human destruction. They only want peace. Freedom, to live out their lives and die just as we do. What harm can come of letting the remnants of the Institute’s legacy be?”

His nostrils flared. “I  _ cannot _ abide their existence. You may have been fooled by their clever programming, but that is all it is. Programming. I can see my time here will come to nothing. Let us be done with this. In the morning, we will wake on opposite sides of a line. I will no longer hold my fire should you cross it.”

Edun sighed. It had come to this, then. Countless lives would be lost over one man being unable to release his stranglehold on flawed ideals. He was ready to sacrifice his people at the altar of war for it, knowing full well they had the Prydwen in their sights. Preston had been right, all that time ago when he hesitated at helping Danse and the rest of his team. The Brotherhood had come, and they had burrowed into the Commonwealth like a hungry tick.

“We will see you out,” Edun told him cordially. “I can only hope a night to think things over will change your view.”

“That will not happen,” Maxson growled. Edun let the way back through the door and out into the courtyard. Minutemen looked down from where they lined the walls of the Castle, weapons relaxed but ready should they be needed. Near the gate, Maxson turned to Edun and extended his hand. She looked from it to him with surprise, not expecting such a gesture.

“I want you to know that there are no hard feelings,” Maxson said in a tight voice. “And that whatever comes, I have always respected you even when I did not agree with you.”

Edun allowed a ghost of her old smile to return to her face. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, but for what it’s worth, may the best faction win.” She returned his handshake.

His grip was firm, a little too tight. She made as though to pull away, and that was when he yanked her so hard the joint of her arm screamed in protest. Edun felt herself stumble forward before being turned about and pulled tightly into Maxson. The buckles of his flight suit dug into her back as his left arm crossed over her chest and pinned her securely against him. His right arm came back up, and she felt the sharp tip of a knife press into her neck, breaking the skin. She immediately knew if she so much as twitched wrong, the blade would sink into her carotid artery. The entire maneuver had happened in seconds, and Edun blinked, somewhat stunned. As though in slow motion, everyone surrounding them reacted. Preston shouted, and every Minuteman in or overlooking the courtyard drew their weapons. The three knights and Kells drew theirs in response, though they were grossly outnumbered.

“Elder Maxson, this is not the way to resolve things,” Preston boomed, taking a step forward. “If you kill her, it will change nothing. We will still destroy your ship, and the war will wage on.”

“This isn’t about stopping the war,” Maxson snarled, close to Edun’s ear but loud enough for all to hear him. “This is about putting an end to something I should have long ago. Without her interfering, there would be no Minutemen. There would be no escaped synths to contend with. We would have swept into the Commonwealth and saved this land. Instead, she has brought us to ruin and done all she could to further destroy humanity. I will bring  _ her  _ to ruin. It is only  _ right _ . _”_

His voice shook with rage, and with each word Edun could feel the knife move. Blood seeped from around the cut, trickling down over her collarbone and into the fabric of her sweater. She was afraid to speak, lest the movement of her vocal chords bring about her untimely end. It put a whole new spin to  _ famous last words.  _ Maxson had lost himself in his desperation, the trappings of his office falling away to reveal a man so afraid of change he could not admit defeat.

“You will die here, too,” Preston warned. “If you let her go, then you are free to leave this place. If you harm her, then your life will be forfeit. If my men don’t kill you, then I will. With my bare hands.”

It was the first time she had seen Preston look so frightful. His eyes were flinty, his sweet face almost... vicious. He had never taken a life in anger, but this might be the first time he did. She wouldn't let him carry such a burden. She knew too well how bitter the taste of it was.

“You would kill me for following my conscience, Maxson?” She whispered, wincing as her throat bobbed with the words. “Is that not what you are doing now? Is that not what you are also willing to die for? In this, we are alike. Please… let it be between us. Let you and I settle this one on one. Leave my husband out of it. He is everything that is good in this world. The thing both of us fight so hard to preserve.” She could see Preston straining to hear her, but her voice was too low. It was the first time she had ever broken a promise.

“You would have made a fine Brotherhood soldier, if only you were not so blind,” Maxson said, sounding truly regretful. “But that blindness is the very reason you must die. I cannot let it continue to spread to others.”

A door slammed from somewhere across the courtyard, and Maxson flinched. The knife dug a little deeper, and Edun forced herself to bite back a pained yelp.

_“_ _ Elder Maxson! _ ” A voice roared, and Danse appeared, marching across the snowy courtyard. His face was dark with fury and disgust. Atlas and Arden flanked him, looking equally prepared to eviscerate someone. Behind her, Edun heard one of the knights in power armor audibly exclaim something. Until now, only Maxson had known the truth about Danse. That he was alive and well, serving amongst the Minutemen. Even Rhys and Ingram thought he was dead, though assuming it was more recent. “As a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel and before these witnesses, I am issuing a formal challenge against your authority as Elder. As it is written in the Litany, so shall it be. We will settle this in combat.”

“You are no soldier of the Brotherhood,” Maxson yelled. Edun flinched as the knife bit into her again. “You are a synth. A  _ machine _ . You are no man.”

“There is nothing in our laws that stipulates a machine cannot hold rank within the Brotherhood,” Danse replied, matching his volume. “And since I have neither stood trial as a traitor nor been stripped of rank, and since I am not dead, then by all that is written I am still very much a Paladin.”

“He is correct, sir,” Kells at last spoke.  _ So he wasn’t just an asshole paperweight after all _ , Edun noted. “The laws were written long before any knowledge of the Institute or its abominations were known to us. As such, they are flawed… but they stand.”

“I don’t remember asking you for your input,” Maxson snapped. 

“Accept his challenge, and we will stand by whoever wins.” Preston’s voice interrupted the standoff, and Edun stared at him. “If Maxson is victorious, the Minutemen will step aside and acknowledge his authority in the Commonwealth.”

Maxson did not hesitate. He immediately withdrew the knife from Edun’s neck and shoved her forward. She stumbled and landed on her hands and knees in the snow. There was a  _ thud  _ as the knife, flung from Maxson’s hand, embedded in the frozen ground an inch away from Edun’s right hand. It left a little crimson smear in the snow from her blood upon the blade.

“I accept your challenge!” Maxson exclaimed. “Then I will be rid of not only a synth, but the meddlesome Minutemen as well. I suppose there  _ is  _ hope for the people of the Commonwealth after all. Come to the airport at dawn,  _ Paladin _ . You should bring Edun as your second. I want her to watch you  _ die _ . _”_ His voice was almost gleeful.

Edun clambered to her feet and looked back at Maxson. He was already marching in the direction of the vertibirds, Kells at his heels like a loyal dog. One of the armored knights, perhaps the one who had exclaimed aloud, looked back at Danse for a moment.

“Good to see you’re alive, sir,” the knight said, saluting with fist over heart. “Ad Victoriam, Paladin Danse.”

“Ad Victoriam, Knight,” Danse responded, saluting in kind.

With a final nod, the knight turned and followed the others. Danse and Preston were at Edun’s side at once, examining her bleeding neck and slapping her on the back. 

“First of all,” Edun turned on Preston. “Are you fucking  _ crazy _ ? You just bet the entire fate of the Commonwealth on Danse’s fighting skills. No offense, Danse.”

“None taken,” Danse said amiably. 

Preston kissed her on the forehead. “ _ You  _ might always keep your promises, Edun, but I don’t. Over my dead body would I ever stand by and let that madman murder innocent people. All I did was give him an incentive to accept the challenge. He thinks if he kills Danse, he will therefore kill any doubts he harbors within himself in regards to synths being machines. He wants to kill that part of himself far more than he wants to kill us.”

Edun made an appeased sound, then rounded on Danse. “As for you… Danse, I hope you can outfight a man who is famous for killing a Deathclaw. Otherwise, I’ll not only lose you but I’ll also get a war out of that shit deal.”

“I would not have challenged him if I did not have faith in my abilities,” Danse told her in an assured and reasonable tone. “I will best him. Of that, I am sure. It has been years since he fought alongside his men. He is overconfident, overemotional, and grossly underestimates  _ me _ _._ While we are on the subject… I believe you do as well.”

“It’s not that,” Edun protested, giving his arm a squeeze. “You’re just… Precious cargo. I hate to risk you.”

“You’re precious cargo, too, you…  _ Jackass _ .” His lips curved up at his use of her favorite word, and he jerked his head towards the Castle. “That’s enough doom and gloom for one day. Time for some celebratory drinks. Tomorrow, the Brotherhood of Steel’s reign of fear and paranoia comes to an end.”


	16. Trust In Me

They set out in the wee hours of the morning. Preston gave Edun a tight hug before pulling her fur hat further down on her head, ensuring she was snug and warm in it. He surprised both her and Danse when he pulled the big man in for a hug as well. Edun never thought she would see the day the two of them were so close, but distance from the Brotherhood and becoming one of the Minutemen had softened the Paladin. He and Preston were like old friends now, sharing in their love for Edun and their purpose of guiding the Minutemen.

Haylen, bleary but awake and wrapped in a blanket, stepped forward. Danse pulled her into him, his enormous arms all but obscuring the petite woman from view. He kissed the top of Haylen’s head and murmured something to her that was too low for Edun to make out. Whatever it was, it made Haylen clutch him harder. Her slender fingers pulled at the coat on his back, as though if she held him tightly enough, he might change his mind. She relinquished her hold after a long moment, fear and worry in her eyes as she looked up at Danse. He kissed her soundly in an uncharacteristic public display of tenderness, then let her go. Haylen stepped back, tears glimmering in her eyes, but her chin was raised in a resolute manner. Somehow, she held the tears back.

“Don’t let anything happen to her,” Preston instructed Danse at the door. “And whatever you do, give Maxson hell.”

“She is safe with me,” Danse assured him. “By now we are both well-versed in protecting Edun from her own recklessness.”

_“_ _ Hey _ ,” Edun protested. Preston chuckled, tweaked her nose, and gave her a little shove out the door.

The snow was frozen, stretching out before them in a glittering blanket beneath the moonlight. It crunched beneath their boots as they set out on the long, frigid walk to the airport. The wind howled and moaned about them, the bitter bite in it threatening to bring a new storm. Edun muttered grumpily, thinking about her ruined vertibird. It would have been nice to fly rather than walk. The least Maxson could have done was offer to have them picked up. Boston twinkled before them, a smattering of lights showing proof of life amidst the old buildings, human or otherwise.

“Do you know what the defining moment was for me?” Danse asked her at length, breaking the rhythm of stillness and crunching ice. 

“Defining moment of what?” Edun asked, still only half-awake.

“The moment I decided you were right. That all those well-meaning words about me being human were true.”

“I didn’t know you had such a moment. I just assume everyone knows I’m always right and never make plans to dispute it.”

Danse snorted loudly. “It was the day you asked me if I would be Elias’ godfather. When you requested that if anything should happen to you and Preston, I raise him as my own. That was the day I first saw myself in the way you see me.”

Edun smiled beneath the cover of her scarf. “You’re too kind. I was only trying to foist the diaper changing onto some other poor sucker.”

“Be that as it may, the gift of that gesture… It has stayed with me all this time. I do not think if there was still conflict in me I could face Maxson. But thanks to you, to our friendship, to your making me part of your family… I am at peace with myself.”

“If people don’t stop saying nice things about me, I’m going to start thinking you guys like me,” Edun chuckled.

“Perhaps just a little,” he agreed. “A tiny smidge.”

Light was just beginning to seam the lines of the horizon as they approached the airport. Knights and initiates lined the road leading up to it, and Edun noticed more than one salute or nod at Danse as they made their way along. She wondered how differently things would have unfolded if Danse had issued such a challenge outside that bunker on the day his world came crashing down. She supposed at the time he was not ready for such a thing. As broken and devastated as he was, he would not have been ready to face down the man he so greatly admired. A man he followed blindly. Now, his mind and his heart were his own - and he had the steel in his gut required for such things. 

Maxson stood in the center of the airport, surrounded by an entourage of armored knights, Captain Kells, and Proctor Quinlan. Per the usual, Quilan had a look to him as though he had just sucked on a fresh lime wedge. His narrowed eyes regarded Danse coldly before moving on to Edun with equal disdain. If circumstances were different, Edun would have grabbed the man by his lapels and done her best to knock every last one of his teeth out. She had never forgotten Haylen’s words;  _ he said he’d no more mourn for Danse than he would for a broken toaster.  _ She’d like to make him mourn his missing teeth. As though sensing her intentions, Danse nudged her with his elbow.

“Behave yourself,” he warned in a low voice.

_“_ _ Spoilsport _ ,” she hissed back.

“I half expected you to run off and hide, as you did once before.” Maxson’s voice cut through the wind like an arrow as they drew near. It rang of false bravado.

“You mean when he was forced to flee lest he be pointlessly murdered,” Edun shot back. Danse’s elbow again, harder this time. The bastard had some seriously sharp elbows for such a lumbering meatwagon.

“Since we do not have the time to wait for a Council emissary from the Capital, I will explain the terms of the Litany trial,” Quinlan interrupted, looking harried. It was clear he thought all this was beneath him and could not understand Maxson’s entertaining of the challenge. “As written in the Litany, the trial by combat is to the death. There can be no surrender, and withdrawal from the challenge will result in forfeiture of the challenger’s life. The place is to be chosen by the challenged. On this occasion, Elder Maxson has chosen the basement of Fort Strong. Weaponry is restricted to hand-to-hand items only. No projectiles of any kind are permissible. At the conclusion of the trial, should the challenger prove to be the victor, it is within his right to either take the place as acting Elder, or appoint one in his stead.”

Edun raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Danse. He stood silently, looking both fierce and resolute. He wasn’t just fighting Maxson to the death… He was facing shouldering the burden of commanding the Brotherhood. If there had ever been a man worthy of such a command, it was Danse. He was ten times the man Maxson was.

“Elder Maxson, do you hereby swear to uphold the decree of the Litany?” Quinlan continued, facing his Elder.

“I do so swear,” Maxson vowed, his eyes glittering darkly.

“Paladin Danse,” Quinlan said, turning to Danse. “Do you hereby swear to uphold the decree of the Litany?”

“I do so swear,” Danse rumbled.

“With the accords so met, we may proceed. Each of you will board a vertibird that will take you to Fort Strong. There, you will choose your weapons and prepare yourselves before entering the chosen arena. Have you each chosen a second, to witness the battle?”

“Edun is my second,” Danse nodded.

“And I have chosen mine.” Maxson gestured, and Captain Kells stepped forward.

Quinlan turned to address the seconds. “As seconds, it is your duty to observe. If either of you interfere with the trial in any way, you will be killed without trial or dispute. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Kells replied as Edun also said, “Roger that.”

“Then let us proceed. Ad Victoriam, combatants.”

There was a chorus of  _ Ad Victoriam _ , and then Maxson turned and strode towards the vertibird waiting to take him on to the Fort. Danse turned to Edun, regarding her quietly for a moment.

“Promise me you will not interfere in any way,” he told her. “If it looks bad for me, you  _ must _ stay your hand. If you do not, you will never leave Fort Strong alive.”

“You want me to just… stand by if he kills you? Are you seriously asking that of me?” Edun frowned, staring up at him. “I can’t do that.”

“You must,” he insisted. “Trust in me. Not just as your friend, but as a soldier and commander who is more than capable in these matters.  _ Stay your hand _ .”

Edun closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and then opened them again. “I promise. I will not interfere in the trial.” She meant the words. But if something went south and Maxson killed her friend, whatever happened  _ after  _ the trial was free game. Danse wouldn’t be around to disapprove.

He put an arm around her shoulders, and together they walked to the vertibird that was ready for them. Edun climbed in first, grabbing hold of an anchor strap and hoisting herself up. They faced each other as the bird rose into the sky, the midnight blue shifting to violet and rose hues. Dawn was breaking over the Commonwealth, and she wondered if it would be the beginning of a whole new era under a much gentler hand.

Fort Strong loomed ahead. The place had once been infested with super mutants, but the Brotherhood made short work of them and claimed the place - along with its enormous stash of mini nukes - for their own. Soldiers were stationed amongst the squad, ugly brick buildings surrounding the Fort. They watched as the vertibird landed and Edun and Danse climbed down. Again, there was a handful of salutes or nods as they walked up the hill to the Fort’s front doors. The day they liberated the synths from the airport, Ingram had told Danse if he were to ever return to the Brotherhood, he would find support. Edun could see now the woman’s words were accurate. Maxson may have written Danse off as an abomination not worthy of life, but his men largely did not reflect that sentiment.

A scribe was waiting for them in the lobby, bidding Danse follow before leading them through the halls to an elevator. They stepped inside, and the scribe pushed the button for the lower levels. When the doors dinged and slid open, Edun stepped out first. She caught the scribe’s words to Danse before they closed again.

“Good luck in there, sir. Ad Victoriam.”

Another scribe was waiting for them, and this time they were led to a room that had been cleared and lined with tables. Weapons of various shapes and sizes were laid out. Danse walked a circuit around the room, considering his options. The scribe cleared his throat after a moment, and held up something. It was a flight suit, the sleek fabric shining in the light.

“I apologize sir, but… I must ask you to change. No armor is permitted in the trial, and I must ensure you have no prohibited weaponry concealed. Once you have chosen your weapon, we may step into another room for privacy.”

If Danse was at all bothered by the mandatory strip search, he didn’t give it away. He only nodded and returned his eyes to the table before him. The scribe looked visibly relieved, and relaxed as he waited for Danse to make his choice. At last, Danse raised a sword and examined it. It was long and curved, almost like a scimitar. The grip was rubber, and the weapon sported a nasty looking device mounted before the grip. Edun had seen a sword like this once before, and knew once activated the blade would carry a deadly alternating current of at least 220 volts. If the blade didn’t kill the target, the current flowing through it would. It was a nasty but effective weapon.

“Are you trying to tell me sword fighting is amongst your many talents?” She demanded incredulously.

Danse offered a half-smile and swished the blade through the air, testing the weight and balance of it. Wielded by such strength, the weapon  _ whooshed  _ as it swept in arcs before him.

“Brotherhood soldiers are well-versed in all forms of combat, both hand-to-hand and long range,” he informed her. “Fencing is an art that did not die along with much of the earth. It is an exercise we expect our recruits to master early on.”

Edun didn’t want to make light of the situation before them, but in that moment she didn’t think there was anything cooler than the image of Danse cleaving the air with an electric sword. It would make an amazing Grognak cover. If only she could draw. Dogmeat was probably a better artist than she ever would be.

_“_ _ Badass _ ,” was all she said, voice appropriately reverent.

Danse indicated the sword was his final choice, and the scribe nodded before leading him out. Edun lingered, shivering as she looked at some of the weapons. Large knives with gutting hooks at the ends of their blades. Brass knuckles. Maces and flails. There was even a handheld scythe. She felt as though she were browsing the wares of a torture dungeon. She wondered what Maxson had picked. Which item he planned to use in his extinguishing of Danse. The thought of anything happening to Danse made her sick to her stomach. She thought about the knife in her boot. If she needed to use it, would it be enough against whatever Maxson was armed with?

When Danse and the scribe returned, he was outfitted in the plain flight suit. The rest of his belongings would be stored until either his defeat or victory.

“I must ask you to follow me next,” the scribe told Edun in an apologetic tone. “You will not need to change, but I must pat you down and confiscate all weapons until the trial is concluded.”

“You can do that here,” Edun said with a shoulder roll. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Just try to resist the urge to get fresh with me, I’m a married woman.” The scribe’s cheeks flamed at that, and Edun chuckled under Danse’s disapproving eye.

Once they were both in the clear and Edun’s weapons had been stowed for safekeeping, the scribe led them down another long hall and through a door leading down to the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, Proctor Quinlan and a handful of armored Knights waited. No doubt they were here to enforce the results of the trial, and kill Edun if she got handsy with Elder Maxson afterwards. She might be decent in a fight, but five soldiers in power armor with miniguns was a bit much for her. Whatever need for vengeance she might have, Danse had been right. She would not leave this place alive if she tried anything. She couldn’t do that to Preston. Not after that scare she had just given him with her Institute stunt. She would have to abide by the rules of their stupid Litany.

Two knights opened the double doors, and Quinlan wordlessly led the way through what looked to be a series of maintenance tunnels. They were narrow, the ceiling low. Footsteps echoed down the corridors. Edun was impressed. The Fort went far deeper into the earth than she realized. It made sense. With much of it belowground, there was more of it to survive something like… say… a nuclear attack. Quinlan led them to a platform overlooking a large chamber made of stone. The earthen floor was wet here, as water from the ocean seeped its way up through the bedrock. The platform framed the room, overlooking the floor below. It made for an effective arena. Edun was reminded of a gladiator fighting pit, and the comparison made her gut clench. Captain Kells waited on the platform just beyond the door, and below - waiting in the arena - was Maxson. 

Maxson held what appeared to be a rather vicious tactical axe. It had a long, sleek handle. One side was a long and sharp bladed point, the other a traditional axe head with a gleaming edge. He held the weapon comfortably, letting it hang alongside his right leg as he watched the group enter.

“You are to remain on the platform. If you step foot into the arena itself, you will be in violation of the accord,” Quinlan told Edun and Kells, before turning to Danse. “The trial will commence the moment you enter the arena.” With that, Quinlan stepped back and withdrew from the chamber. Kells stepped to the side, giving Edun and Danse some distance. Edun looked up at Danse, seeking a final assurance. He smiled at her, reached out and chucked her under the chin.

“When this is all over, perhaps you and I will once again share beers on the Forecastle,” he said gently.

“You can bet your boots on that.” Edun forced herself to smile. Danse returned it, and with a wink, turned and leaped off the platform into the arena below.

The two men immediately began to circle each other. Danse activated the blade’s device, and electricity crackled as it hummed to life. Maxson raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth twitched as he observed the weapon. There was no banter, no bravado. Only two men - both equally skilled soldiers - orbiting each other with death in their eyes. Edun knew what Maxson was doing. He wanted Danse to strike first, opening himself to an attack. Danse did strike first, sweeping in with a cut to the side. There was a loud clang as Maxson parried with the axe. The blade of the sword bit into the rubberized hand of the haft before Danse whipped it away, lightning-fast. Maxson responded with a blow of his own, striking out with the axe and only just missing Danse’s belly with the pointed side of the axe head. With the tension broken, the two men launched into a more serious affair - cutting and feinting, blocking and retaliating. There was no sound but the grunts and heavy breathing as Danse and Maxson lay into each other with a terrifying ferocity.

Minutes ticked by, and neither showed signs of relenting. Edun was unable to look away, her heart pounding in her throat. Each blow from Maxson’s axe could be the end of her friend, and she only just managed to stop herself from running her fingers over her scarred cheek or chewing her nails. Metal scraped on metal, and Maxson let out a hoarse yell before dropping his weapon like it was on fire. Edun realized what had happened. His hand had slipped up high enough to contact metal, and he had received a second-hand jolt through the haft as Danse’s weapon contacted his own. Maxson leaped back, Danse’s blade swishing through the air where he had just stood. Danse pressed the advantage, forcing Maxson to back up. The stone wall of the platform would stop him soon, and he would have to move either left or right. If Danse made contact with flesh, the electricity would do the rest.

Danse looked thoughtful. He glanced at the blade in his hand, then back at Maxson.  _ No,  _ Edun thought, seeing what he was planning.  _ Don’t you fucking do it, Danse.  _ Danse was cursed with the same flaw Edun was… a dominating sense of fairness, often to his detriment. She watched as he switched off the electricity and tossed the blade aside, facing Maxson with mutually bared hands. Maxson smiled at that, a begrudging grimace, and gave Danse a tight nod before raising his fists and taking a fighter’s stance. Edun had sparred enough with Danse over the past year to know he was a formidable opponent, but she was just an ex-pilot with no real qualifications. Maxson was the youngest Elder the Brotherhood had ever seen, and it was not a title that was simply handed out. You had to earn it. Danse had given up his one advantage in this fight, and she was afraid it would cost him.

Maxson swung at Danse, who responded with a forearm block and a fist to the Elder’s gut. Maxson grunted and pivoted, landing a glancing blow across the side of Danse’s head as he ducked. There was a grim determination in Maxson’s eyes now, and Edun was reminded that this was a man who went toe-to-toe with a deathclaw and won. Technically she had killed two of the creatures, but it had been with help each time. First with Preston’s aid, and the second with Danse at her side. The two exchanged more blows, at last drawing first blood when Danse’s fist connected with Maxson’s nose. They parted, and Edun could see blood seeping from a contusion on Danse’s cheekbone. Both had taken a piece of the other now.

Maxson launched himself at Danse, catching the Paladin off guard with the sheer suddenness and ferocity of it. The two grappled, their strength matched. The hold was nearly broken when Maxson lashed out with his left leg, delivering a hard kick to Danse’s shin. Danse almost lost his footing, dropping and shifting. Edun realized it was a ploy. Danse used the false flag to take advantage of his grip on Maxson’s arms, twisting and launching the Elder into the mud. As soon as he was down, Maxson was rolling out of the way of Danse’s stomping boot. He flung a handful of mud at Danse, the thick sludge temporarily blinding him. It was a dirty trick, but effective.

Danse stumbled back, hands wiping at his face. Maxson leaped to his feet and charged, ramming his shoulder into Danse and causing them both to hurtle to the ground. Winded though he was, Danse gave the Elder’s neck and shoulder a hard blow with his elbow. There was considerable weight behind it, for Maxson emitted a pained sound before striking Danse hard beneath his chin as he tried to rise back to his feet. Danse’s head barely moved, the cords in his neck standing out as he slammed a fist into Maxson’s jaw. Maxson fell to the side, and Danse followed - striking Maxson again and again before closing his hands around the man’s throat. Maxson struggled, bringing his hands up between Danse’s arms and attempting to break the hold. Danse bore down harder, dark hair filthy and hanging over his forehead in a way that no longer reminded Edun of Superman. Now and then Maxson would manage to make one of Danse’s hands slip loose, but he regained control each time. He had the advantage of his body weight behind those thick arms pinning Maxson down, and Maxson knew his seconds were growing numbered. The fight appeared to be coming to an end.

There was movement out of the corner of Edun’s eye, and she turned her head to see Kells raising his hand, a small black revolver catching the shine of the lights overhead.

“No!” She screamed, her hand flashing out and knocking Kells’ hand aside. The gun roared, and the bullet missed its mark to embed in one of the stone walls. Both Danse and Maxson froze, turning their eyes to the platform. Maxson’s face was a mask of fury when he saw the gun in Kells’ hand.  _ No,  _ he mouthed. Kells lowered his arm, obedient to his Elder to the end. The fight resumed, but Kells had provided an advantage for Maxson with his treachery. Maxson gave Danse a hard shove, pushing his opponent off. He followed up with a kick to Danse’s chest with both feet. Danse stumbled back, the wind knocked completely out of him, and Maxson was on him in seconds.

It was Maxson’s turn to rain blows down, and the sound of his gloves striking Danse seemed in tandem to Edun’s racing pulse. She kept one eye on Kells, not trusting the Captain, but he only watched the fight with his mouth set in a hard line. To Edun’s horror, Danse appeared to stop struggling after Maxson landed the final in a series of hard hits. She watched his legs relax, his boots no longer struggling for purchase against the slick mud. Maxson noticed too, and he climbed off of Danse. Edun watched the Elder search for his fallen axe, so he could land the killing blow. Beside her, Edun heard Kells open his mouth to shout something. She wound her fist back and hit the man square in the jaw with every ounce of strength in her body. He spun away from her with the force, smacking into the stone wall. His revolver skittered across the platform and disappeared over the edge. She followed up with a stomp to the back of one of his bent legs, and was rewarded by the snap of bone and a loud cry from the man as she shattered his femur.

Edun turned back, heart in her throat, to see that Danse had finished pulling himself up from the mud and was approaching Maxson silently from behind. The curved sword was once again gripped in his hand. He looked like a Viking warrior of old, hulking and ferocious, slick with mud and blood. His eyes shone with a terrible light from beneath his grim brow. Maxson straightened from retrieving his axe and turned back to the task at hand. He was not quick enough to stop the blow. The sword had begun its arc as Maxson turned, and as the blade of it embedded itself in his shoulder - cleaving through his clavicle and stopping when it reached his sternum - his mouth opened in a soundless cry of shock. The axe fell from his hand and he dropped to his knees. Danse let him fall, releasing the grip of the sword. Maxson swayed, then sat back on his heels. Danse lowered himself to his knees in the mud, facing his old friend on an equal level one last time.

Maxson’s mouth moved as he whispered something to his Paladin. Whatever the words were, they brought a look of pain over Danse’s face so palpable it was as though he were the one with a sword lodged in his flesh. He nodded after a moment, a jerky motion fraught with emotion, and placed one of his large hands on Maxson’s other shoulder. His mouth moved as he voiced an answer, and with one final mirthless smile the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel tilted and fell to the muddy floor. Danse stayed on his knees for a long moment, before leaning over and closing Maxson’s eyes respectfully. At last he climbed to his feet, rocking on them for a moment before turning to look up at Edun. She knew the grief in his eyes. She had felt it the day she was forced to put a bullet in James. It was the sort of grief that would crush a lesser man.

Behind her, Edun heard Kells let out a groan as Danse climbed up onto the platform. She turned to look at him, and her voice was cold when she spoke.

“You brought shame to Maxson in the end. I might not be Brotherhood, but at least I didn’t try to cheat.”

“Leave him,” Danse told her as he approached. “The Brotherhood will deal with him accordingly. Captain or not, he violated the terms of the trial.” 

He looked haggard, broken. Edun slipped her arm around his waist. He gratefully accepted the support, laying an arm heavily over her shoulders. Together, they left Maxson to his muddy grave and Kells to his fate. 

  
  



	17. To Being Better Than Those Before Us

Ever the pessimist, Edun had expected more of a fuss when she and Danse pushed the doors open and reentered the room where Quinlan and the armored knights waited. Quinlan looked disappointed, his eyes distinctly disapproving, but was otherwise surprisingly gracious. He saluted Danse, as did the knights surrounding him. Danse relayed the information on Kells, and Quinlan’s eyes measurably darkened before he turned and ordered two of the knights to see the business finished. Their personal effects were returned, and Danse was allowed to dress in his original gear. From there, they were to be escorted back to the Prydwen for an official address. When Danse stepped out of the Fort onto the snowy hill overlooking the complex, a chant rose from the soldiers below. 

_ “Elder Danse! Ad Victoriam! Elder Danse! Ad Victoriam!”  _ The words were accompanied by the stomping of power armor clad feet or the butts of rifles striking against the frozen ground. The result was deafening, and Edun felt goosebumps ripple over her skin in response. Codsworth’s words from long ago came back to her, then.  _ Nothing ever truly dies. It only becomes something else.  _ She looked to Danse, and his face was unreadable. He gazed down at the soldiers below as they called his name, jaw tight, and she realized there was no joy in this moment for him. Twice now, he had been made to fight for his life against a man he respected and loved. Once with words, and then again with weapons. There could have been peace. In the past, there had been a glimmer of hope for such a thing… but in the end, Maxson was a slave to his ideals. He could not move past the rigid world he had been raised in. Not even true friendship was enough to salvage him, and she knew Danse saw that as a failure on his part. He had been unable to win Maxson over to a different way of thinking, and so had let him down.

They walked through the crowd of soldiers towards the vertibird, and Danse was every inch a Brotherhood soldier once more as he returned salutes. More than a year had passed since he had walked proudly among his people, and as they climbed into the vertibird and rose in the air once more, he looked down at the soldiers assembled below and allowed a small smile to take shape. He was  _ home.  _

The rest of the day was a blur. There was a rather formal swearing-in, followed by an address from Danse as the new Elder. He wasted little time in his new position, ordering a crew to begin the arduous task of digging out the men and women still trapped in the dark and powerless Institute. While he, like Edun, was concerned as to Ingram’s fate - she knew he wanted to free the others down there just as badly. It would take several days to burrow down through the layers of frozen earth and concrete, but it would be done. There was no real danger to the soldiers trapped below, not yet, other than boredom in the dark. There was enough oxygen and supplies to last them a while still.

His next order was to quell all Brotherhood investigations and interrogations effective immediately. They were to return to their original duty of protecting all people of the Commonwealth against the usual fare of raiders, feral ghouls, and super mutants. His instructions were explicit: Under no circumstances were any synths to be targeted or harmed. The two caravaneers currently being held in the airport’s detention center were released, with apologies and a rather generous amount of caps. If Edun didn’t know better, she would suspect they considered their impromptu stay to be well worth it in the end.

He ordered Knight Sergeant Gavil report to report to the Prydwen later that evening, and it would seem the man was doomed to experience a second major shock that day. Gavil stood before his new Elder, rigid. A man of iron. Edun didn’t know him particularly well, but she remembered the way he had balked at her investigation into the missing supplies long ago. Danse regarded Gavil silently for a moment.

“Sergeant Gavil,” he rumbled, “Do you know why I have brought you here?”

“No, sir,” Gavil responded, eyes remaining forward.

“Effective immediately, I am promoting you to Lancer Captain. You will collect your belongings and report back to the Prydwen for duty.”

“Sir, I…” Some of the iron left Gavil, and his gaze shifted to meet Danse’s. “I am hardly qualified for such a position, sir.” 

“I will be the judge of that,” Danse told the stunned man. “Do not tarry too long in your preparations. My ship needs a captain.”

“Yes, Elder Danse, sir,” Gavil said, military decorum saving him from floundering. “Ad Victoriam.”

“Ad Victoriam, Captain,” Danse replied. “You are dismissed.”

Gavil turned and marched out, leaving Danse to watch his retreating back while Edun observed Danse with folded arms and raised brows.

“Well,  _ he _ was blindsided,” she snorted. “Why Gavil?”

Danse turned to her and offered an enigmatic smile. “Two reasons.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to share them, or bore me to death waiting for an answer?”

“Reason number one… is because it can’t be you. You’ve never been willing to enlist, though you’d have made one hell of a soldier. Since I can’t have you as my right hand, I must choose someone else. Secondly, of all the men serving the East coast chapter, there are none more fiercely dedicated to the well-being of their people than Gavil is. Loyalty and honor mean more to that man than anyone else in my ranks. These are the qualities I seek in a second. You yourself have seen a glimpse of it, the day you interrogated him on the worthiness of his direct reports. He dug in his heels to protect them, despite the presence of a superior officer. Even when I pulled rank on him. It may be rather unorthodox to promote a man thusly, but as Elder that is my prerogative. He is the right man for the job. What… are you smiling about?”

His last words were directed at her with puzzlement, for a wide grin had spread across Edun’s face.

“You. You’re already talking like a great leader, and you’ve had the job for one day.”

Danse shrugged dismissively. “There is work to be done, and it is now up to me to do it. On that subject, I was hoping you would indulge me and stay for a couple days as I acclimate to command. You are my most trusted friend, and I would have you at my side while I sort things out. If a knife comes for me in the dark… I will feel safer for your presence.”

“You think someone would turn on you?” Edun asked dubiously. “Considering the reception you’ve had so far, allow me to doubt you.”

“Captain Kells would disagree with your faith,” Danse’s mouth twisted at the thought. “There is… one other matter as well.”

“What’s that?”

Danse raked a hand through his thick hair. “I have arranged for a proper funeral for Elder Maxson tomorrow. I… was hoping you would attend with me.”

“I’m not sure I have the proper attire for such an occasion,” Edun hedged. It wasn’t that she didn’t wish to pay her respects as well. It just felt as though… she didn’t belong. She felt like a usurper somehow, just being on the ship.

“Proctor Teagan can accommodate you in that regard. See him, and tell him I sent you for some proper clothing.”

Edun sighed. She couldn’t tell her friend no. Not in this. “Okay, but if I spill mole rat stew on anything fancy, you’re paying for it.”

“You have a deal,” Danse laughed softly, before his face turned more serious. “Edun… Thank you. Not just for today, but for... everything. I feel as though you have been a lighthouse, guiding my way through storm after storm.”

“Don't get all mushy on me now,” she teased, smiling at him. “You’re a big fancy Elder now. You’re not allowed to have feelings. Now, I’m going to go find some fancy clothes, then call my husband and inform the poor soul that neither of us are dead.  _ Then _ I’m going to see about a cot to crash in. What is the Prydwen’s policy on hot baths?

“I am afraid all we can offer are cramped showers and limited lukewarm water,” Danse grinned.

“Damn it all to hell,” Edun groaned, dragging her heels across the command deck floor on her way out. Danse was still chuckling with amusement when the door closed behind her.

  
  


There wasn’t a moment for them to sit or talk until day three. By then, Danse seemed to have a handle on most of the operations. Word came from the Capital, a begrudging acceptance of Danse’s right to lead. It was an unprecedented event, but as the late Captain Kells once pointed out… There was nothing in the Litany or any Brotherhood laws stipulating a man of synthetic origins could  _ not _ lead. It had simply never been anticipated or done before. Edun imagined if there had been a fuss from Danse’s soldiers and commanders, aggressive actions might have been taken… but with the exception of a few disgruntled members, the East coast chapter had accepted Danse completely and without reservation. None had forgotten him for what he was; a good man, a just commander, and a loyal and brave soldier. They did not see him as a synth. If anything, the long and exhausting campaign against Evil Synths had shown many of the Brotherhood soldiers how very human the synths  _ were _ . They were not rough-hewn models like the Gen 1s, or eerie yellow-eyed constructs like Gen 2s. They looked like people, bled like people, fought bravely and died like people. The years of tension and mistrust had, in the end, resulted in sowing a seed of doubt. That was often the way of things. It was easy to refuse to see the truth of something when it was far away from you. Once confronted with it head-on, it was harder to stick to misguided beliefs.

Edun stood in the doorway of Danse’s quarters. He had not realized she was there, yet, and she kept her silence as she observed him flipping through an old leather-bound journal upon Maxson’s former desk. His face was soft, relaxed. The veneer of command had fallen away, and the face she knew and loved was back. After some long moments, Edun cleared her throat gently. Danse looked up at her, somewhat startled, but relaxed again when he saw her there. She held up the little wooden basket that held six brown bottles.

“It’s too cold on the Forecastle. I thought maybe since you’re the boss of everyone now, we can take our alcoholism indoors.”

He closed the leather cover and smiled at her thoughtfully. “By all means, have a seat. This is the first moment of respite I’ve had in days. I suppose it is time to put it to good use, before someone else demands my attention.”

Edun joined him, settling into the chair across from him and twisting off the top of the beer. It was good. Really good. The Bobrov boys had expanded their operation, taking over the old Gwinett brewery and adding in a few recipes of their own. Their brews were now available all over the Commonwealth, and a favorite amongst traders. Today’s fare was Brambleberry Ale. It was light, fruity, and a significant improvement from bubblegum champagne. Apparently Edun wasn’t the only one who had been honing her talents over the years. Danse took a swig, and closed his eyes while a blissful expression passed over his face.

“That is… Excellent,” he proclaimed. Edun grinned and raised her own bottle, and they clinked the glass together. It felt like a little moment from the past just then. Two friends aboard a glorified blimp, sharing beers. All they needed was a proper sunset.

“What are you reading?” She asked, gesturing at the journal he had been perusing when she arrived. He looked down at it, placing a hand on the leather cover.

“Maxson’s journal. He kept an official log on his terminal, of course. But this… Is different. More personal. I think I understand him better, now.”

“Can I ask you something?” Edun ventured.

“Ask away.”

She licked her lips, savoring whatever the hell Brambleberry was. “At the end of the trial… Maxson said something to you. The way your face looked when he spoke to you… I’ve never seen you look that way. What was it? What did he say to you?”

Danse’s eyes dimmed a little, and Edun regretted the asking. “He told me… he was sorry,” Danse said, voice thick. “He told me that… he’d made many mistakes in his life, but turning his back on me was perhaps the biggest one. I… Didn’t expect to hear that from him. I thought he hated me.”

Edun shook her head. “He was still just a kid, puffed up with praise his whole life and shouldering far too much responsibility from a young age. I could see it, at the parley. He was backed into a corner and afraid. He was torn between being two people… the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, and a 22 year old kid who never got a chance to be anything but a soldier. I don’t think he ever hated you. Not even for a second. He just… went through the motions because that is what he’d been conditioned to believe. That there was no room for love or forgiveness in a world so full of hate.”

“Perhaps” Danse acknowledged. “I don’t know if his words brought comfort, or only twisted the knife deeper. I told him that I understood. That I... forgave him. Whatever my feelings on him and his actions are, he was a dying man… and a little bit of kindness in the end costs nothing.”

“I think beneath it all, he was a good man, whatever his misguided intentions. Here’s to being a little better than those before us.” She raised her beer, and Danse met it with his own.

  
  


-

Edun wanted to be there when the Brotherhood work crew finally broke through to the Institute, and so Danse sent a vertibird to the Castle to retrieve her on one unseasonably warm day nearly two weeks later. It had been a lengthy endeavor, reaching their people again with the ground frozen solid. They had opted for reopening the old wound of Liberty Prime’s prior entry. The area had been filled with concrete, and it was easier to jackhammer their way through that than it was to thaw and dig through the unyielding earth. Below, she knew the troops would be waiting. They would hear the work aboveground and expect it was their people working to reach them. She arrived in time for the final push, the last few feet of concrete crumbling away in enormous chunks and falling into the Institute below. From there, it was widening the entry point and lowering thick metal stairs down. A team was sent down into the Institute to bring word and guide the trapped soldiers out. With the elevator down, they would have to go the long way around. Edun and Danse waited, and after a time the first soldier made their way up from beneath.

One by one, more followed. They were briefed on the situation and told to report back to the airport. Reactions to Danse as Elder were a mix of surprise, relief, and caution… but each and every soldier paid him their respects and saluted before moving on. When a familiar head of red hair emerged from the ragged hole, Edun nearly cried. She ran forward to greet Ingram, throwing her arms around the woman and her clunky frame. Ingram seemed embarrassed by the affection, but allowed Edun to pull her aside after patting her awkwardly for a moment.

“What happened? I thought… I thought Rhys had killed you,” Edun said, eyes shifting back to the opening as though she expected him to come out shooting.

“No, surprisingly,” Ingram told her. “He fired his gun up at the ceiling, yelled and carried on… but he didn’t shoot me. I knew he didn’t have it in him. Surprisingly, he didn’t turn me in either. I think his guilt over murdering Danse has been weighing heavily on him for some time. He’s a broken man.”

“Yeah, about that...He is  _ not  _ going to appreciate the events that have unfolded since he got trapped down there.” She filled Ingram in on Danse’s survival, the parley, and the Litany trial. When she got to the part about Danse’s position as the new Elder, Ingram’s mouth dropped. If it weren’t for her frame, Edun thought Ingram might actually fall over in surprise.

“You have been  _ busy _ , _”_ she chuckled, eyes flitting over to the command tent. “I should… pay my respects to our new Elder.”

“You do that,” Edun grinned. “I know he’ll be so happy to see you.”

Edun stood by the stairs until the face she was waiting for came into view. Rhys looked haggard and careworn. He had deep circles under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken. When he met Eduns’ stare, his mouth twisted into an ugly frown. Once he cleared the steps, he approached her, fists clenched at his side.

_“_ _ You, _ ” he snapped. “What are you doing here? How could Elder Maxson tolerate your presence after everything you’ve done?”

“Elder Maxson isn’t around to tolerate anything,” Edun told him, not caring enough to be gentle with the news. “But I think Elder  _ Danse _ would like to have a word with you.”

Rhys’ face went whiter than the snow around them, and he actually stumbled back a step as though she were a snake striking out at him.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his voice hoarse. “What have you people done to Elder Maxson?”

“I’ll let  _ him _ explain it,” Edun jerked her head in the direction of the command tent. Rhys turned, his movements slow and fearful, and he locked eyes with Danse from across the muddy snow. Danse stood outside the command tent, tall and imposing, arms folded as he gazed at Rhys calmly. He extended a hand and gestured, beckoning Rhys forward. Rhys turned back to Edun for a moment, fear taking the place of anger in his eyes.

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he,” he stated, his voice flat.

“I highly doubt it,” Edun replied. “He’s a better man than you have ever given him credit for. Go to him.”

Rhys walked away in the direction of the command tent. His shoulders were slumped, and each foot in front of the other was that of a man walking death row. Whatever happened, it was between Rhys and the man he had once gunned down like an animal.


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have sat here for two hours today, staring at the screen and willing myself to say goodbye. It feels a little bit like a funeral. I guess this is it, folks. I'll share some thoughts at the end of the chapter.  
> \--------------

“That’s it, then,” Preston mused, pausing in his kneading of Edun’s shoulders. They were sitting in their bed, Dogmeat’s head in Edun’s lap and Preston’s legs encircling Edun while he gave her the best shoulder massage of her life. She had been gone for two days, discussing future plans with Danse, touching base with the Railroad, and stopping at a few settlements to let them know the Castle was a safe place for their refugees to come to now. Arrangements were made to escort synths back to safehouses from the surveillance center in the Glowing Sea. It would be a considerably less stressful endeavor without the Brotherhood to worry about. She arrived back at the Castle road-weary, muddy, and half frozen. Preston had immediately fed her, arranged a hot bath, and then insisted on giving her a working over. It was absolutely decadent, and her eyelids were threatening to close with each knead of Prestons’ palms and gentle fingers.

“If you stop, I swear I’ll sic Dogmeat on you,” she threatened. “But yes, that’s it in a nutshell.”

“I’m surprised at Danse, letting Rhys live after everything. He’s a hell of a man. I don’t know how anyone who knows him could ever think a synth isn’t human. He puts us all to shame.”

“That he does,” Edun agreed, pinching the fur on Dogmeat’s cheek until it stood up in a little face mohawk. She chuckled, and Dogmeat opened an eye to throw her a withering glance, as if aware he was being mocked. “Rhys seems to be taking his penance well. I half expected him to throw a tantrum over being stripped of his rank and assigned to logistics. Keeping track of meal kits and munitions rather than marching around proudly in that shiny armor must gall him, but… He was a different man after his conversation with Danse. Maybe in time he’ll grow to be less of a twat.”

Preston snorted, deepening the pressure of his thumbs between her shoulder blades. Edun let out a little groan, sighed. 

“Well, there is relative peace in the Commonwealth now. What’s next? Anything you’d like to blow up, any risky endeavors you’d like to engage in? I don’t have any gray hairs yet, so I imagine you’ve fallen short of your primary goal.”

“Don’t worry, those are coming. You chose to marry _me,_ remember?” She laughed, flicking his calf as punishment for his sass. “But I’m afraid our work is hardly done. The Commonwealth isn’t exactly a safe place for synths. They will need our help more than ever, now that the threat of the Brotherhood is gone. The people of the Commonwealth will not take kindly to synths among their population.”

“I heard a story today.” Preston said, placing a kiss at the base of her neck. “And if you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll share it with you.”

“Hmmm,” Edun leaned back, the bare skin of her back pressing into the heat of Preston’s chest. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her skin, the curls of hair over his well-formed pectorals. “I am always nice to you. Therefore, you should tell it to me.”

Preston’s hands came up beneath her arms, crossing, each large hand cupping one of her breasts. His mouth met her neck once more, and she squirmed as little electric impulses shot through her body at the contact. Dogmeat, seeing what was coming and expressing a sigh of utter disgust, roused himself and hopped off the bed. He rolled an eye towards them at the doorway, and Preston laughed heartily before disengaging from Edun and opening the door for the poor animal. No doubt Dogmeat would seek out Cookie for a late night consolation snack, and tell the man - with his large brown eyes - how greatly he had been wronged.

“Now,” Preston snarled, turning from the closed door and eyeing Edun wickedly. “Where was I?”

Edun giggled, scrambling back on the covers, but Preston seized her by an ankle and pulled her to the edge of the bed, falling on her and making the old mattress cry out in protest at the abuse. 

They made love, and it was different than it had ever been. Perhaps it was due to the relief of the worst of their trials coming to an end. Perhaps it was a solidification of the peace they had made with each other after coming the closest they had ever been to a fight. Whatever it was, there was a tenderness to it and a love so deep in every kiss and touch that Edun thought they might both drown in it.

Preston shared his story with her after, as they lay in a sweaty heap of body and limb, sheets tangled about their ankles. He combed his fingers through her damp hair, kissed the top of her head, and explained.

The story was, it turned out, that Mayor McDonut himself was a synth and had cracked under the pressure of losing his connection to the Institute. According to Preston’s sources (otherwise known as Deacon), it would seem Hancock’s brother had been dead for some time, his replacement used to sow discontent and fear within Diamond City. He fled rather than face the music, and Hancock went after him. Only Hancock returned from the streets of downtown Boston, and he didn’t have much to say on the matter after. He had done what needed to be done. Edun understood what he must have been feeling. It was likely partly vengeance for himself, and partly vengeance for what had been done to his people. There was no evidence as to when the original McDonough was replaced by the Institute. Hancock may never know if the man who threw the ghouls out and left them to die was a synth or his true brother, and she suspected the loose end would eat him up long after the fact.

They slept, then, grateful for Haylen in the peace and stillness of their room and the comfortable quiet. These days were rare, where it was only the two of them, and Edun knew they would be rarer still the older Elias got.

In the morning, Edun ate breakfast with Haylen and filled her in on everything. Haylen did not seemed pleased with Danse’s decision to spare Rhys - not after he had nearly killed the man she loved. Danse had radioed her, asking if she would like to rejoin Brotherhood ranks. She had declined.

“He might be able to forgive them for what was done to him, for the things they said about him… But I can’t. The people who back him now were the same people who helped hunt for him, who obeyed Maxson’s order blindly. I can’t forget that.” Haylens eyes were hard, glittering, as she started into her tea.

“I know. Believe me, I understand your decision. If it were my Preston… I’d probably have blown them all to hell for what they did.” Edun paused, extricating a lock of her hair from Elias’ mouth and fists. “That isn’t how we get our daily fiber,” she told the child, who giggled gleefully at her fierce expression. She was really losing her touch, she decided.

“Besides,” Haylen continued, “Someone has to stick around and make sure Elias is raised right. He doesn’t have a prayer without me to mitigate your influence.”

“Don’t you _dare_ teach my son to love carrots,” Edun said indignantly. 

Haylen chuckled, took another bite of Cookie’s Mirelurk Surprise, _accidentally_ dropping a bite on Dogmeat’s head. Across the mess hall, Arden entered the room with Sunshine clinging to her back. She joined Edun and Haylen, straddling the bench and releasing Sunshine. The toddler immediately dove into the basket of corn cakes on the table, crumbs flying everywhere as she ate - much to Dogmeat’s glee.

“Atlas had an idea last night,” Arden told Edun, grabbing one of the cakes for herself. “And I wanted to run it by you. See how you felt about it.”

“I’m all ears,” Edun answered, bouncing Elias on her knee while he attempted to regain the stolen lock of hair.

“We would like your permission to take over the old Covenant compound.”

Edun stared at her sister for a long moment, brows raised. “Come again?”

Edun had often wondered if Atlas and Arden would leave the Commonwealth once more, now that a peaceful accord had been struck among factions. It did not seem they had any plans to. Arden told Edun about how Atlas strongly objected to memory implants as a means to protect synths. He believed the way they were was as they should be. He wanted to take over the old Covenant compound, turn it into a refuge of sorts. Any synths who wanted safety or sought the means to protect themselves would be welcome, and Atlas planned to dedicate himself to training other synths to protect themselves and fight back. Considering he was a former Courser, his offer to instruct was not something to be taken for granted. He had found his purpose. While he remained neutral verging on cool when it came to humans, he regarded the former chattel of the Institute with sympathy. Edun had no problem with the request. If anything, it solved the issue of synths needing a place to go should things get difficult. They would learn to protect themselves under Atlas and Arden’s care. The compound was an enormous facility, now nothing more than a grave for the members of Covenant. It would serve its new purpose well.

-

  
  
  


With Haylen’s refusal to rejoin the Brotherhood, she stayed in the Castle and was content to work alongside Curie in the clinic. Besides, Haylen often said, she had _two_ children to read to now. Sunshine was a much more enthusiastic participant than Elias was. Danse made time to visit, staying one or two nights per week while juggling his duties as Elder. It was a fact about him that Edun appreciated. He made time for the things that mattered, even when it put a strain on him. 

For the most part, the Brotherhood was considerably less busy. There was no Institute to destroy, no synths to hunt, no interrogations to conduct. Their standing orders now were to seek out and eliminate feral ghouls, raiders, and super mutants... as well as provide any support the people of the Commonwealth needed. The Institute scientists, freed of their shackles, decided to remain under the Brotherhood’s employ. This time, they received caps rather than threats to incentivize them. They knew their best bet for survival was under the protective shadow of the Prydwen. The people of the Commonwealth would rip them apart for their transgressions otherwise, and they did not have the luxury of memory implants.

  
  


Charges were placed throughout the disabled Institute facilities, and the detonation of them could be felt throughout the Commonwealth. It was time to at last put the remaining ghosts of the Institute to rest. None would ever set foot inside those terrible walls again. For the survivors of the original Institute, it meant there was no turning back - nor being dragged back. Not now, not ever again. The Railroad was to be left alone to continue their work. While the Brotherhood was no longer gunning for them, that didn’t mean the people of the Commonwealth were not still a melting pot of acceptance, anger, and paranoia. It was still not a safe place to be a synth, and so the network of moving and securing synths remained. Some synths chose to seek help from the Railroad, others - more and more - chose to seek out Atlas, and learn to fend for themselves. Doctor Amari was able to return to the Memory Den, though she had to rebuild the memory loungers destroyed by the Brotherhood. Sturges offered his assistance, and spent many hours aiding her.

  
  


Elections were held for the vacant office of Diamond City mayor, and in a surprising turn of events, Piper won by write-in. It would seem her efforts at bringing truth to the Commonwealth had not gone unnoticed or unappreciated, and even the paranoid denizens of Diamond City were tired of lying politicians. They wanted honesty more than they wanted more useless words. Her first order of business was to make it clear that anyone who killed or harmed a synth would face the same justice as they would in a crime against a natural-born human. The same order stood for ghouls. The doors were reopened to them once more, and though it was a standing invitation, few returned or came to the city. The damage was done, and none of the former residents had forgotten the way their own friends and neighbors turned on them. If the city were to heal, only time could manage it.

Despite the continuing ripples of chaos to contend with, the Commonwealth felt more peaceful than it had in decades. It was safer, too, with Brotherhood and Minutemen soldiers patrolling the streets and highways. Winter reluctantly caved to spring’s embrace, rivers and lakes swelling with runoff and new life sprouting from the ground once more. Edun and Preston set their sights on a goal they had long dreamed of - setting up a proper courier route. They started small, with a handful of brave volunteers. They arranged for couriers to run in teams. One to carry, one to guard. It was the grown-up wasteland version of Safety Buddies. Little waystations were constructed, offering shelter and sustenance to the couriers as they made their way south. The idea picked up speed, and people all along the coast - many of whom were people helped by Atlas and Arden - volunteered their homes and resources to help the dream along. Soon the network spread further, branching out across the states. For the first time in over two hundred years, something was done in unity. The couriers brought with them parcels and letters, tidbits of fragmented lives and tidings of both good and ill. 

Boston began to recover in earnest. Streets were cleared and patched. Buildings were purged of super mutants and repurposed. It was grueling work, healing the scars left by an age long past, but it gave everyone in the Commonwealth a unified purpose. Rather than fighting amongst themselves, the denizens of old Boston fought for a better future.

  
  


-

**The Castle**

**Seven Years Later**

Edun shielded her eyes and looked out across the old obstacle course, sighing at the two figures that could be seen climbing up the rope ladder. Dinner had been called half an hour ago, but there were two rather conspicuously empty chairs at the table. As expected, the two overzealous jackasses were refusing to come inside. It was forever a competition between them. Who could climb the ropes faster, who could hop through the tires quicker, who could swing the farthest across the bars. Alongside them loped a german shepherd. He was gray around the muzzle now, but no less vital. His tail wagged as he followed along, keeping an eye on the contest unfolding. He sensed Edun’s eyes and perked his ears, turning to gaze to her before abandoning his post. He trotted up the hill to her side, sitting on his haunches at her feet. Edun reached down and nestled her hand in his fur.

“Hey sweet handsome sugar baby,” she crooned to the dog. The toddler on her hip chortled in response to her words, and Edun turned a baleful eye to him. “Not you. You’re not handsome. Not today. You made and ate mud pies in my bed, and I’ll never forgive you for it.”

“I maked cakes,” the unrepentant Jonah pronounced.

“Son, your cooking skills are right up there with Uncle Sturges, and that isn't a compliment. Even Dogmeat won’t eat your creations. Speaking of…” She withdrew her hand from Dogmeat’s head and framed her mouth with it, bellowing across the field. “ _Elias! Sunny!_ Dinner was half an hour ago. Don’t make me drag you inside by the ears!”

The figures froze at the base of the swinging bars, looked at each other, and turned back towards the Castle at a dead run. It was the sort of speed only the very young had, their little skinned knees bobbing in the air as they approached. Sunny was a filthy mess, her jeans torn at the knees and her little pink blouse smeared with mud and grass stains. Elias was not in much better shape, blood on his shirt from a skinned elbow and similar mud and grass stains on his own shirt. Edun raised her eyebrows at the two of them as they all but skidded to a halt before her, eyes wide and innocent.

“Let me guess,” Edun said, giving each child a cursory inspection. “You crawled under the barbed wire again even though you weren’t supposed to.”

“Sunny made me!” Elias cried, pushing the girl beside him.

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Sunny shoved back. “All I said was I double dare you.”

“A double dare? That’s serious business.” A voice proclaimed from Edun’s back. She turned to look at her husband, a smile spreading across her face just as it always did when he was nearby. Preston kept his face solemn, but winked at Edun. “Now, why don’t the two of you go get cleaned up, wash your hands, and eat some of poor Cookie’s casserole before he thinks you don’t care about him anymore.”

Elias’ eyes went wide in horror, as though that were the _worst_ thing that could possibly happen. He shoved Sunny again, causing her strawberry blond ringlets to bounce. “Last one to the mess hall is a rotten egg!” He crowed, before taking off at a sprint. Sunny was on his heels in an instant, yelling something about how it wasn’t _fair._

“Gee,” Preston mused, tousling little Jonas’ curls. “I wonder where he gets it.”

“Dogmeat, obviously. I’m Mary Poppins.”

Preston tilted his head, not understanding the joke. Edun sighed, realizing as usual she was the only one who got her references.

“Practically perfect in every way.”

Preston laughed, and the fine lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth deepened with it. There were more of them, now. Evidence of a life lived and battles won. Of much sorrow, but even more joy and laughter. She loved his face. She loved every goddamn thing about his face, so much so it nearly hurt to look at it. Even after all this time. He leaned in and kissed Edun, lingering just long enough that Jonas let out a word of protest as he was crushed between his parents.

“That you are, wife,” Preston said as he withdrew. He held out his hands, and Edun handed Jonas over. Preston immediately tossed the boy high in the air, and was rewarded with a high screech and giggle.

“If he throws up his dinner, that’s on you,” Edun sniffed. “Probably literally.” She looked down at Dogmeat and smiled. “It’s almost your favorite time. Food fight Friday. You know it’s coming.” Truly, every meal when Sunny was in town devolved into a food fight. It was part of the charm.

“Arden was looking for you. Said something about you having found her some new books?”

“Boy, did I,” Edun grinned. “The last batch a courier brought me are absolutely _dreadful_ . One of the covers even shows a fully bare ass. The _scandal_.”

“I could do with seeing one of those myself,” Preston waggled his brows at her.

“Oh, you will. When this ass climbs into a hot bath. Come on. Dinner time for you, too, Mr. Garvey.”

“Yes, Mrs. Garvey.” The warmth in his eyes left her feeling somewhat sick with love, and together they walked back through the gate and towards the mess hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, in my head, I always imagined Preston with a whole mess of kids. IDK why but the thought of 5 or 6 kids, mini Prestons, running around just kills me. He seems like the type who would love every second of being a dad to a Garvey Clan. Guess it comes with the territory of being a sweet and supportive and selfless person. Maybe someday he'd be wearing fanny packs and making dad jokes, while taking them fishing and sharing stories about life and how he and their mother fell in love, idk.
> 
> It's a headcanon that is exclusively reserved for Preston. It just suits him, in my mind. But I wouldn't do that to Edun, nor do I think she'd be down with having a whole clutch, so... Two it is.
> 
> I like to think that someday Elias and Sunny bond. Maybe they are each other's first loves, and end up lifelong sweethearts. That would be a nice little end. In the meantime, it will be skinned knees and double dares and arguments over who Dogmeat loves best.


End file.
